The Room: A Novelization
by GazingAbyss
Summary: The classic movie, now in novel form!
1. Chapter 1

FOREWORD

First off, I feel it's only fair to warn you: this at least started out as an earnest attempt to turn the Room into a novel. Most (but certainly not all) of it is simply recounting of events from the movie, and I did try to avoid the impulse to editorialise or make cheap jokes. Not to say that that's not in there, but I tried to stay true to Tommy Wiseau's masterpiece as much as I could. For that reason, I'll also warn you that some of the chapters are really long because I wanted to keep all the scenes intact, even the ones that seem to go on forever.

Why (you're asking yourself) did I write this? The credit – or possibly blame – must go to the Book Was Better, a podcast devoted to reviewing terrible novelizations of movies. As much as I have laughed at the novels they review, I've always been a little impressed at the way the writers who do novelizations crank out books, so when I was trying to think of a project for NaNoWriMo, I decided to see if I could do the same. The decision to do the Room came about because, just before NaNoWriMo started, I had read the Disaster Artist, by Greg "Oh, hai Mark" Sestero, and was fascinated. (btw, I highly recommend checking out the Book Was Better if you're into mocking people's failures, and the Disaster Artist if you enjoy the Room. Since you're reading a fanfic of the Room, I assume both apply.)

I hope I don't sound pretentious, because really, everyone knows this quote, but Friedrich Nietzsche once said that if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. After watching this movie over and over, getting to know every frame, I've come to realise that Nietzsche was wrong. The abyss doesn't gaze back. The abyss cannot gaze back. The abyss is the blackness of the human soul, driven not by rational thought, but by grasping, all-consuming gluttony. It is Azathoth, the blind, idiot god, the nuclear chaos at the centre of infinity, the amorphous blight beyond angled space whose mindless existence is can only be described as deafening sensation. The abyss is the Room. Come. Gaze into the mouth of madness with me.

*ahem* Sorry about that. Where was I? Oh yeah!

Please feel free to leave a review. I'd really appreciate your thoughts. And if you enjoy my mind drippings, you can check out my other works on this site or find me on Twitter under SeaLenz. Thanks!

* * *

THE ROOM

The trolley rattled over the tracks, nearly jostling the wrapped gift box out of Johnny's hands. He repositioned it on his lap, thinking of its contents, red as the shiny exterior of the vehicle taking him home.

By the time Johnny jogged off the stopped trolley, the streets were bathed in the orange haze of sunset. Johnny pushed a long, thick strand of his black hair out of his eyes as he walked, the brown bricks of his condo coming into view as he crested a hill. Climbing the front steps, he ran his free hand, the one that wasn't carrying the tastefully wrapped package, up the wrought iron railing that led to his doorstep. He dug deep into the pocket of his spacious jacket while carefully hiding the gift behind his back, finally retrieving his keys and unlocking the door.

The door swung open to reveal the lush crimson walls of the condo Johnny shared with Lisa, his future wife. Thick drapes hung over the windows, tinting the sunlight that pierced into the room to a dim, welcoming blush. Scented candles had been placed lovingly on the brick mantle of the fireplace, and artwork surrounded by glinting silver frames decorated the room. Two ornate columns stood on either side of the front door, completing the luxurious living space.

"Hi, babe," Johnny said as soon as he saw Lisa, his future wife, sitting on the couch.

Lisa rose to greet Johnny, her pleasure at seeing her future husband evident in her blissful smile. Confronted with the sight of her – the sky-blue tank top hugging her curves, the slits on her black skirt showing just enough leg, her perfect, pale skin, most of her blonde hair gathered in a bun to accentuate the delicate arch of her neck, leaving her bangs to fall in front of her eyes – Johnny was struck once again with the thought of how fortunate he was to have Lisa waiting for him when he returned from work every night. She walked towards him on long, graceful legs.

"I've something for you," Jonny said with a chuckle.

Lisa's eyes darted down to where Johnny's hands were tucked behind his back, a laugh tugging at the corners of her lips. "What is it?" she asked.

"Just a little something," Johnny teased.

With a giggle, Lisa reached down, her hand grasping for the package behind Johnny. Johnny bent his knees and arched his back, using his long limbs to keep the box just out of Lisa's reach. For a few moments he played keep-away before producing the gift, wrapped in leopard print wrapping paper and topped with an enormous red bow. Thick red ribbons were tied around the lid of the box, creating the illusion that its contents were secure, like a perfect life that nothing could intrude upon.

Lisa lifted the lid of the box and cast it to the floor, exposing tissue paper which she crumpled and shoved to the side. "Oh," she sighed as she saw the red spilling from the cardboard packaging. Clasping the straps of the dress in her hands, smooth as water running between her fingers, Lisa held the garment up, watching the silk shimmer and dance in the light. "Johnny, it's beautiful," she told her future husband. Warmth spread through Johnny at the delight in Lisa's face.

Lisa lifted the dress higher, pulling it out of the box, and pressed it to her chest, admiring the way the soft fabric draped and enfolded her form, as Johnny gently placed the now empty box in the chair next to him. "Can I try it on now?" Lisa gushed with excitement.

"Sure, it's yours," Johnny grinned, his voice a low mumble.

Grabbing the loose necktie that dangled around Johnny's neck, Lisa pulled her future husband closer. "You wait right here," she purred as she leaned in to kiss him, "I'm gonna try it on right now."

"Mmhmm," was all Johnny could manage in response to the slow smile spreading across Lisa's lips. As Lisa disappeared upstairs, he strolled over to the brown couch, draped in sheep skins and fluffy white pillows, and sat, letting the stress of a long day at work wash away in waves, soothed by the familiar, comforting sights of his home and the anticipation to see his future wife as she always deserved to be dressed.

A few minutes later, Johnny's reverie was interrupted by the sound of heels clicking against the floor. He opened his eyes and looked up to see the backs of black stilettos descending the hardwood steps of the winding spiral staircase across from him. The strappy shoes went down a few more steps, and the rippling red hem of the dress came into view, flowing with every movement like a part of Lisa's body. Lisa's creamy white hand came into view, caressing the stainless steel banister, as her hips, silk stretched across them, swayed down from the upper floor. Finally she rounded the center support for the stairs, bringing her whole body into view, from the smooth, supple curve of her shoulders and neck to the lithe grace of her feet, gilded with silver earrings set with small blue stones, a previous gift from Johnny.

"Wow, you look so sexy Lisa," Johnny observed.

Lisa stepped off the stairs, prowling forward into the living room. She stopped in front of the couch, where Johnny had collapsed, exhausted from work, one shoe propped up on the coffee table. With a seductive smile, she twirled, letting Johnny's eyes rove over her entire body, including her back, left almost as exposed as decency allowed. "Isn't it fabulous?" she asked.

Johnny chuckled. "I would do anything for my girl," he replied, lacing his hands behind his head and leaning back.

Suddenly there was the sound of the door opening. Interrupted, Johnny and Lisa both looked over to see a eighteen-year-old boy stepped inside before pausing to let his eyes adjust to the light. Unruly brown hair had been pushed out of his eyes, back over his head in thick waves, and his dress was casual – jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. His vision swept the room before finding Johnny and Lisa. "Oh, hi guys," he chirped brightly.

"Oh, hi Denny," Johnny returned the greeting, not peeling his eyes from Lisa.

Denny closed the door behind him and paced into the condo to get closer to Johnny and Lisa, stopping dead in his tracks when Lisa's dress registered in his mind. "Wow, look at you," he gasped in reverential awe.

"It's from Johnny," Lisa boasted, her eyes glittering with mischief.

"Anything for my princess," Johnny chuckled from his place on the couch behind Denny. Lisa blushed and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

"How much was it?" Denny enquired curiously.

A short huff of air escaped Lisa's lips at Denny's brazenness. "Denny, you don't ask a question like that," she told him.

"Nice to see you Denny," Johnny said warmly as he stood up. He turned to Lisa. "I'm going to take a nap," he said, and her nose crinkled as she grinned at the subtle suggestion.

"Can I go upstairs too?" Denny asked excitedly, his head tilting like a puppy's, excited for a treat.

Johnny chuckled in response.

Lisa smiled in understanding, looking for the right words. "Denny, I think I'm going to join him," she finally explained gently, her eyebrows knitting.

Confusion flickered across Denny's face as Johnny chuckled again. Johnny strode forward, taking Lisa's hand in his and lifting her arm over her head as if they were engaged in a dance.

Denny turned to watch as they left, Johnny leading Lisa towards the stairs. The silk of Lisa's dress caught every ray of light that fell upon it, highlighting her body in a way that made her movements, to Denny's eyes, hypnotic. A wisp of blonde hair fell over a smooth shoulder as Lisa glanced back, only for a moment, only long enough for a dancing, smiling green eye to fall on Denny's face and a crimson lip to offer him a generous, loving smile.

Then Lisa's eyes were back on her future husband's. Still watching, still entranced, Denny felt his heart sink and nearly shatter as Lisa looked away, lost in Johnny. Her mouth close to Johnny's ear as they began to climb the stairs, she cooed, "I've got some candles upstairs."

Johnny's heavy footsteps quickly ascended, drawing Lisa towards the bedroom. "You always think," he praised her, before chuckling, "Alright, I'm ready."

Professional black shoes disappeared upstairs, leaving only a pair of graceful feet and the last, lingering trace of red silk swishing along behind. "This is so pretty," the faint strains of Lisa's voice drifted down to Denny's ears, and he pretended they were whispered from only inches away. "I can't wait for you to get it off of me."

"Oh yeah," Johnny agreed.

Sounds of delight and amusement floated down into the living room, the duet of Lisa's giggles and Johnny's chuckles. Denny sauntered over to the coffee table, where a bowl of fruit sat, and picked a large, ripe apple, as red as apples could be. He cupped it in his hand, considering it, running a thumb over its smooth skin. Inhaling the sweet scent of the fruit, he brought it to his lips, his eyes still on the lush red between his fingers, and bit down, savouring the juicy mouthful. He chewed, still listening to the sounds from upstairs, before finally deciding to climb the winding, spiral staircase.

His large, black jacket discarded over a chair, Johnny fell onto the huge bed, cushioned by the heap of plush pillows and the lavish crimson bedding. Delicately nudging one of the sheer, white curtains that surrounded the bed to one side, Lisa climbed onto the bed after him. With a playful chuckle, Johnny grabbed the nearest pillow and lightly swung it at Lisa's tight stomach, letting go and letting it go tumbling to the side. Lisa's eyes locked on his, narrowing as a slight smirk played on her lips in a look that said, _So that's the way it's gonna be?_ and she quickly snatched the discarded pillow from where it had fallen.

With a grin, she pulled the pillow back, readying to swing it. Defensively, Johnny yanked another cushion out from under his head and held it up as a shield. Lisa swung her pillow into his, knocking it out of her hands before triumphantly smacking Johnny in the chest with the soft weapon.

"Ouch," he complained playfully, and Lisa let out a giggle of amusement. Johnny rearmed himself as Lisa prepared for another assault, and they tussled across the bed.

The first thing Denny saw as he climbed into the bedroom, the thing he had been looking for, was the gauzy white of the drapes surrounding Johnny and Lisa's bed. The drapes, flowing softly in the breeze from an open window, appeared to glow in the gentle light of the bedroom, giving them an ethereal quality that, to Denny, seemed from another reality, another plane of existence that he was only privileged to glimpse and could never reach.

The drapes shook slightly, and through their gossamer weave Denny could make out Johnny and Lisa, the red of her dress arched over his long black hair. Their eyes were drinking each other in, even as they pretend-fought with pillows, lightly bouncing the cushions off each other and laughing as the mock battle came to a standstill, bringing their bodies closer and closer together.

Seeing a pillow that had fallen to one side of the bed in the joyous struggle, Denny seized his opportunity. He ran forward, grabbing the pillow from the ground and swung it into Johnny, letting his momentum carry him forward as he fell onto the bed between Johnny and Lisa. Upon seeing him, Lisa let out another burst of laughter, which fell on Denny's ears like a strain of angelic music. She swung the pillow she still held in her hands down into Denny's chest at the same moment as Johnny batted a pillow against Denny's back.

Letting go of his pillow, Johnny went for Denny's armpits, worming his fingers deep into the most sensitive areas as Lisa kept bringing the pillow into Denny's shoulder. Denny squirmed, caught between bringing his arms up to protect himself from the pillow hitting his face and keeping them tight against his body to prevent Johnny's tickling. Nearly curling into a ball, he manoeuvred away as best he could from the attack that was coming from both sides.

"Stop, no, stop!" he finally begged through the laughter that bubbled out of him. Johnny refused to let up for another moment before he finally gave in. Denny managed to crawl out of the heap of pillows that had fallen on him and blanketing that had balled around him and sat up, pulling another pillow to his chest defensively even as he grinned mischievously.

Lisa settled onto her elbows, her cheeks flushed from the brief pillow fight, and smiled warmly, as Johnny climbed to his knees and fixed an intense gaze on Denny. "Denny," he started appraisingly, "Do you have something else to do?"

Denny shrugged, still smiling. "I just like to watch you guys," he admitted.

Lisa bit her lip and shook her head, holding in a stream of laughter. "Oh," she said, with almost a wince, not sure how to remedy Denny's naiveté without injuring his innocence. "Denny, Denny, Denny boy," she clucked sympathetically as she reached out a hand and stroked his wavy brown hair.

Feeling Lisa's long, lithe fingers in his hair, and perfectly manicured nails against his scalp, Denny's heart skipped a beat, and a surge of heat rose through his body. He treasured the sensation of her hands. His eyes found hers just as she looked away, just as she looked at Johnny.

"Denny, two's great," Johnny began, attempting to explain, "But three's a crowd." He chuckled.

Denny opened his mouth to laugh along with him, but as the words began to sink in his smile faltered. He let out a stream of air as he realised Johnny wasn't going to let him stay, wasn't going to let him watch the sparkle of Lisa's eyes or the slow growth of her smile. "I get it," he nodded slowly, "You guys want to be alone."

"That's the idea," Johnny concurred as Lisa gazed at him, raising her eyebrows.

Desperate, Denny searched Lisa's face, looking for some sign that she wanted him to stay. He scanned her features, peering as deep into her as he could in the few short moments he had, but saw only her devotion and limitless love for her future husband. His face fell, his shoulders slumped, as he was forced to accept the situation.

"Fine," he eventually sighed, "I have homework to do anyways." Denny hoisted himself up from the bed. "Bye, lovebirds," he drawled.

"Bye, Denny," Johnny returned with the same level of enthusiasm.

"Bye, Denny," Lisa chimed in, casting another brilliant smile in Denny's direction. That smile – that perfect, beaming smile – was the last Denny saw of the couple before he left their condo. He couldn't bear, as he stood up and trudged to the spiral staircase, to take another look back, to see the love glowing between Johnny and Lisa like the glow of the dozens of scented candles lighting the bedroom. Starting the descent back into the living room, Denny forced his gaze to focus on the floor ahead of him.

Lisa watched until Denny left, and then drew close to Johnny, planting a soft, gentle kiss on his lips, before pressing her hand against his chest. There was only a millisecond-long look of mischief on her face before she pushed him down onto the bed and began grabbing pillows, resuming their pillow fight which had been so rudely interrupted.

The next few hours were a blur to both of them, a pleasant rosy haze where time seemed to extend and then melt, sometimes flowing backwards before smoothly deciding to go forwards again. The sense memory of endless caresses and kisses, mingled with the reminiscence of waltzes and twirls across the bedroom floor as Johnny and Lisa helped each other disrobe, slowly revealing themselves to each other. Finally, Lisa's hair freed, her dress leading a red path towards the bed, tangled with Johnny's tie and pieces of his suit, they tumbled under the sheets, shielded from the rest of the word by the diaphanous white drapes.

By the time Lisa sat up to turn the light off, rose petals were stuck to her skin, pressed into her like a supple red film. With a click, the lamp shut off; the scented candles had all burnt to stubs hours ago, and the room was plunged into darkness. Lisa turned back to Johnny to say goodnight, but he hadn't moved since she had sat up. In the blue moonlight streaming in through the window, Lisa could make out his eyes, closed among his features, which were made craggier by the thick, clingy shadows.

Lisa let out a small sigh of disappointment at her future husband. Johnny had fallen asleep almost immediately, apparently not even interested in telling her he loved her afterwards. With that thought in mind, Lisa curled up in Johnny's arms and squeezed her eyes shut.


	2. Chapter 2

A rhythmic buzz broke into Johnny's blissful sleep. For a moment he ignored it as a pest, a small insect that was bothering him during an otherwise perfect dream about his future wife, but the sound grew, overwhelming his attempts to bat it away, overwhelming the dream, finally making even his vision of Lisa disappear, chased away by daylight. Johnny groaned and reached a long, muscular arm over the edge of the bed, reaching for his alarm clock.

At first he found only a cool, light material, one that awakened a fond recollection of dancing and embraces, until his half-awake mind recognized the silk of Lisa's dress. Johnny grasped the alarm clock and pulled it out from under the garment, bringing it up to check the time.

Of course, he already knew the time. 6:28, when his alarm clock went off every morning. Johnny placed the alarm clock back on the floor next to the sleek black nightstand and turned it off, not wanting to bother Lisa with its insistent buzz. With another groan, he threw himself back into the bed, feeling the warmth emanating from Lisa. He wished, for a moment, with every fibre of his being, that he could stay, that he would never have to leave his future wife's side again. Finally steeling himself, however, he summoned all of his willpower and sat up.

Johnny's feet touched the hardwood floor of the bedroom for the first time that day, and he suppressed an involuntary shiver as he reached over to the crystal vase on the nightstand. He pulled out one long-stemmed rose and brought the bloom to his nose, inhaling the intoxicating scent, the sweet reminder of the night before. Casting one last, long look at Lisa, he dropped the rose on his pillow – something for her to wake up next to, even if it was only a token – and walked to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

By the time Johnny was ready – clean-shaven and clad again in a proper, professional suit – Lisa had awoken. Her fingers were curled around the rose next to her. She toyed with the flower, twirling it in front of her face and watching the petals dance, her face turned away from the bathroom. Johnny walked to the bed, stopping next to the wrought iron candelabra, almost as tall as he was and dripped with the red wax of ten candles. He knelt, nuzzling the crook of Lisa's neck. She smiled and leaned into him.

"Did you like last night?" Johnny asked.

"Yes, I did," Lisa replied.

Johnny chuckled in response. He ran a hand over Lisa's shoulder and kissed her cheek.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked sweetly.

From the feel of his long black hair on her back, Lisa could tell Johnny was shaking his head. He lightly grasped the rose just above her hand and brought it to his face to take a deep draw of the scent. "I have to go now," he said softly, ruefully, before brushing the blossom against Lisa's lips.

"Okay," she sighed.

"Bye."

"Bye."

Lisa snuggled into the pillow, still clutching the rose in her hand. Johnny kept his eyes on her as long as he could as he went down the stairs, trying to memorize everything, from the way one leg poked out from beneath the sheets to the rivulets of water that appeared to be tracing their way across her form, a projection from the fountain, a glass sheet with water sluicing down it, that decorated one corner of their bedroom. Reminding himself that Lisa would always be there for him, Johnny forced himself to leave the condo and head to work.

* * *

Lisa opened the front door to the condo and smiled as she saw the woman outside. White hair dyed blonde was pushed up in a springy bouffant, and deep worry lines and crow's feet instantly crinkled into a matronly glow.

"Hi mom," Lisa greeted her. "How are you?"

Lisa's mother, Claudette, strode inside and embraced her daughter in a tight, warm hug before giving her a small peck on the cheek. She stepped back, giving her a fraction of a second to look Lisa up and down.

It was long enough. Lisa was dressed as if for a funeral; black jeans and a long, baggy black sweater – practically a shawl – over a black tank top that left her shoulders and neck, whiter than usual against the dark shades, completely exposed. Her hair fell in limp blonde chunks, its usual bounciness apparently vanished with Lisa's usually bouncy mood.

"I'm fine," Claudette answered. "How are you?" she asked as she cupped her daughter's chin between her thumb and her forefinger. Taking in Lisa's appearance, she added a "Hmm?" to let her daughter know she wanted an honest reply as she shut the door behind her.

Lisa's eyes shifted nervously, one moment meeting her mother's, the next searching the floor for the answer to the question.

"Okay," Claudette nodded, realising this was something serious, or at least something would take some coaxing. She put her hands on Lisa's shoulders and spun her away from the door. "Let's go to the couch," she urged her, ushering Lisa through her own living room, "And we'll sit down. Now," Claudette continued and she swung her purse off her shoulder and set it aside before sitting next to her daughter, "What's happening with you?" After a moment's thought, she added another, "Hmm?" for emphasis.

"Nothing much," Lisa evaded before seemingly remembering her duties as hostess. "You want some coffee?"

"What's wrong? Tell me," Claudette pressed, her eyes searching her daughter's face.

Screwing her mouth up, Lisa replied, "I'm not feeling good today."

This response was not good enough for Claudette. "Why not?"

Lisa hesitated, uncertain if she should – if she even could – share her confession with anyone. She had barely even been able to admit it to herself. It seemed to come out of nowhere, and she'd done everything she could to ignore it. She told herself it made no sense, that she had no real reason to feel the way she did, but it didn't work. Reason couldn't work against something so irrational. But, in the end, it didn't matter how unbelievable it was. It just was, and she couldn't fight it.

"I don't love him anymore," Lisa admitted.

Claudette didn't bat an eye. She remembered being a young woman like her daughter, in her early twenties, subject to almost the same whims and caprices as a child. Lisa's confession barely registered with her as more than a passing fancy, the temper tantrum of a toddler, and would end almost as soon as it had started if pressured in the right places. "Why don't you love him anymore? Tell me," she demanded.

"He's so…" Lisa searched for the right word. "Boring," she finally spat out.

This was all Claudette needed to confirm her theory. "Well, you've known him for over five years," she pointed out, "You're engaged. You said you loved him. He supports you. He provides for you. And, darling, you can't support yourself." Lisa's eyebrows furrowed at the sting of her mother's words, the lack of confidence Claudette had in her daughter. "He's a wonderful man, and he loves you very much." Claudette grasped her daughter's forearm with both hands, urging her to make the right decision. "And his position is very secure. And he told me he plans to buy you a house."

Lisa scoffed. "That's why he's so boring."

"Well what are you going to do?" Claudette demanded.

"I don't know," Lisa admitted, before adding with a roguish smirk, "I don't mind living with him."

"Well, you can't do that," her mother sniffed haughtily. "Have you talked to him about it?" she continued, insisting on a course of action that suited her prim-and-proper outlook.

"No," Lisa pouted. Looking down at her hands, she tried to imagine the conversation, the reproach and anger she knew she'd see in Johnny's eyes the moment he knew. This was the longest relationship she'd been in – and from what Johnny had told her, it was the longest he'd been in as well, despite his age – and she had no idea how to end something like that. "I don't know what to do," she finally moped.

"Well, he's a wonderful person," Claudette went on, barely seeming to notice her daughter's distress. "And he's getting a promotion very soon," she added, hoping to overwhelm Lisa's seemingly arbitrary complaint. "Now, he bought you a car, he bought you a ring," she listed, "Clothes, whatever you wanted. Now you want to dump him." Claudette shook her head, scandalized. "That's not right. I've always thought of him as my son-in-law." Her lips pursed, she concluded, "You should marry Johnny. He would be good for you."

Defeated by the logic of Claudette's endless barrage of points, Lisa gave a slight smile and a small shrug of her shoulders. "I guess you're right about that," she conceded.

"Of course I'm right, I know men," Claudette claimed triumphantly. "I wasn't born yesterday. I'm glad you're listening to your mother. Nobody else listens to me," she complained.

Lisa couldn't resist the opportunity, couldn't let an observation like that go by without comment. "You're probably right about that, mom," she agreed, barely suppressing a smirk.

Claudette didn't notice the jibe. "Well, I'm glad you're listening to your mother," she commended Lisa. "Listen, I've got to go," she said, standing up from the couch. She turned and looked down meaningfully at her daughter. "But you remember what I told you, okay?" she added, giving Lisa a playful, motherly tap on the nose with her index finger. "Mmhmm," she nodded, satisfied that her daughter had gotten the message. "Bye bye, now." With that, she walked to the door of the condo and let herself out, leaving Lisa to meditate on her words as she sat alone on the couch in her empty home.

"Thanks, mom," Lisa sighed sarcastically to no one but the silence around her, her only companion most days. Her mother had encouraged her not to pursue education, a career; she'd always claimed such things were unattractive to men, that the women who had them were alone and unhappy. Lisa sulked as she looked around the apartment at the dark corners, filled only with shadows.

Claudette's words still stung. _You can't support yourself_, Lisa thought, _Johnny's position is secure_. Very few of Lisa's friends could support themselves. Those that could were working the demeaning jobs that were available to unschooled young adults; the rest were still finishing university and college. Of course Johnny's job was secure compared to theirs, Lisa reflected bitterly, he'd been working towards security for nearly twenty years.

_And yet the best thing I can do for myself is just stay here, waiting to greet him like a good little future wife_, Lisa brooded. In a rebellious huff, she hopped up off the couch and opened a window, letting pure daylight stream in a chase away the dark reds and blacks of the living room. Her eyes found the phone, sitting in its cradle next to the artsy, post-modern photograph of a spoon in a silver frame and she snatched it from its rest. The phone beeped as her fingers flew across the keypad, playing a tune she could have sung in her sleep. Seconds later the dial tone filled her with hope and longing.

Halfway across the city, a cell phone buzzed from the cup holder of a black Buick. Reflective sunglasses flicked to the source of the sound for only half a second before the owner of the shades grabbed the phone and answered with a quick, "Hello?"

"Hey, baby," Lisa said in a low, seductive voice, "How you doin'?"

"Oh, hey, how you doin'?" Mark replied. "Yeah, I'm very busy, what's going on?"

Lisa scoffed. "I just finished talking to my mom," she groaned. "She gave me this big lecture about Johnny."

Mark's brow furrowed. A call from his best friend's future wife to complain about said best friend was odd, to say the least, at the best of times. "Look, we'll talk about it later," Mark tried to deflect. "I told you I'm very busy." This much, at least, was true.

"We'll talk about it now," Lisa demanded. "Whenever you say we'll talk about it later, we never do. I can't wait till later. I want to talk right now. You owe me one, anyways."

That was also undeniable, although Lisa hardly knew the extent of it. Mark might have only been neighbours with Johnny, if it hadn't been for Lisa inviting him in for dinner the night he'd moved in. He hadn't expected anything like that to happen, assuming Johnny, with his long black hair, muscular build and thick Eastern European accent, would be very selective in who he welcomed into his life, but it turned out he melted at any request from his young future wife.

A gracious dinner invitation six months ago was hardly the favour Lisa was talking about. A few days ago, while Johnny was at work, Lisa had allowed Mark into their condo. He had asked to use their shower, telling them his water wasn't working. That wasn't technically a lie. Due to a healthy paranoia, Mark had shut down the water to his apartment, just in case he needed to prove his story. He did have a shower – the best way to fake doing something, he always thought, is to actually do as much of it as you can.

In truth, he just wanted a few uninterrupted minutes to search Johnny and Lisa's upstairs bathroom, using the sounds of running water as cover. Bathrooms, more so than any other place in the home, were filled with evidence, and Mark had obtained a few black hairs, complete with skin tags, and traces of fingerprints, all safe by now in zip lock baggies in the evidence room of the San Francisco police department. He'd also taken the opportunity to paw through the medicine cabinet, but, as usual, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Okay," Mark ceded with an amused smile, "What do you want to talk about?"

"She's a stupid bitch," Lisa spat. "She wants to control my life. I'm not going to put up with that. I'm going to do what I want to do, and that's it." She paused, trying to let some naughtiness creep into her voice. "What do you think I should do?" she solicited.

"Well, I mean," Mark sputtered, "Why do you ask me? You know, you've been very happy with Johnny," he reminded her. The words, flying through the ether across the gulf of distance between them, felt more like a slap to Lisa than her mother's had. "What do you want me to say? I mean, you should enjoy your life. What's the problem?"

"Maybe you're right," Lisa replied, letting Mark feel as if he'd won. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

"Okay," Mark agreed easily, cheerfully. "Alright, how about noon?"

"I'll be waiting for you." A small smile of satisfaction crept across Lisa's face. "Bye."

"Alright, see ya," Mark answered before hanging up. He put the phone back in the cup holder and cast his eyes down the street, almost a block away. Even from this distance, his quarry was obvious, the decisive gait and long black hair unmistakeable.

Finding his notebook in the passenger seat without looking down, Mark flipped the book open to where his pencil was sitting inside. With muscle memory honed over dozens of stakeouts, Mark jotted a note in his messy scrawl – _2:11, Johnny leaving coffee shop_.


	3. Chapter 3

The waiting room was decorated in various shades of brown, broken up by the occasional tan. Looking from the dark brown wainscoting to the light brown floral print of the wallpaper – embellished by sporadic, uneven brown stains – to the beige carpet at her feet, all tinged with the faint but unmistakeable smell of antiseptic, Claudette wondered where the money that poured into the place went. _It certainly couldn't have gone towards magazine subscriptions,_ she though, flipping through a copy of National Geographic, circa 1993, that sat on the end table next to her.

"Claudette?" came the too-perky voice of the nurse, holding a clipboard to her chest as she poked her head out the door of the examination room.

Lisa's mother sighed and stood, finally making her way out of the waiting room in small, uneager steps. She hadn't enjoyed the long wait, but it wasn't as if the examination was in any way pleasant. The entire thing was ridiculous, as far as she was concerned. Claudette had only gone to the doctor for a simple check up, not to get a lecture about the 'Risks that come at certain ages', as the man had so tactfully put it. He had appeared scandalized when he questioned Claudette about her last mammogram, and she had told him that she never bothered to get one. Why should she? So-called experts said to get them done every two years, but they'd only been saying that for the past five years. In another five years, they'd be telling you mammograms give you cancer and X-rays cure it, she'd argued.

The doctor hadn't listened, and had given her a referral to a specialist – another racket, as far as Claudette was concerned. Just a scam worked out between two doctors to send patients back and forth as much as they could. But the doctor had insisted, pleading and cajoling, and Claudette agreed. He'd even told her that, since she was so long overdue for the procedure, he'd make sure it was scheduled as soon as possible, to take the load off her mind.

The only load on Claudette's mind was the appointment herself. The poking and the prodding she'd have to endure, all so she'd have a little check mark in her medical files saying she had complied with the current accepted regimen. She'd just as soon not have the appointment, and not have the load on her mind, and if her doctor was that bothered, well, he could just jot down a little check mark saying Claudette knew and was aware of the supposed risks.

The nurse held a welcoming arm open, ushering Claudette into the examination room. Claudette scowled at her in response, not appreciating the false friendliness the woman no doubt forced to her face. She strode a few steps in and then turned on her heels. "Well?" she demanded.

Staying near the door, the nurse replied, "I'll give you a moment to undress. There's a robe on the chair for you," she nodded at the pastel blue garment she offered, her ponytail bobbing with the gesture, before she slipped out, closing the door quietly, but firmly, behind her.

Sighing and repressing the urge to grind her teeth, Claudette placed her purse down on the counter and distastefully picked up the supposed robe. As she'd expected, it was of the disposable variety, the kind made from flimsy paper that crinkled and provided no real coverage. Screwing up her mouth, Claudette removed her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse, folding them neatly and draping them over her purse. She shivered as the draft in the room hit her unprotected skin, raising goose bumps on her arms and back, resentfully wondering how much it would cost the office to pay a little extra for another few degrees of heat. _It would certainly be a nice gesture towards their clients_, Claudette thought bitterly as she slipped her arms into the short sleeves of the robe and tied the garment together at the back.

The two sides of the robe gaped open, leaving her back almost entirely exposed. Rubbing her arms to try to return some heat to them, Claudette sat in the leather chair intended for the breast exam and pressed her back into the back of the chair, hoping to protect herself from the cool air. It didn't work. The leather itself was like ice, and Claudette only succeeded in making herself more uncomfortable.

She tapped her toes, rubbing the pimpled flesh on her arm faster as she looked around. The examination room was worse than the waiting room, she decided. Nothing to read, a good deal colder, and the medical equipment lining the walls hardly bred comfort. The smell of antiseptic, no doubt sprayed over every surface each time the room was used, was much stronger here, cloying, almost choking. Each second dragged on, stretched further than the minutes in the waiting room.

Finally the nurse came back. Claudette almost forgot her annoyance at the whole process in her relief that the wait was over. Soon that relief was forgotten, as the nurse led her through the actual procedure, a parade of indignities. The robe had been a lie, a promise that she'd be allowed to stay covered throughout the examination that had not been kept. After stripping once again, the nurse had shown her the purpose of the medical equipment partially enclosing the leather chair, mainly by guiding first one breast, then the other, partway into the machine, only to have her flesh squashed and manhandled by cruel metal. The cold, the pain, the humiliation. By the end she was considering contacting her lawyer. There was no way this was a correct medical procedure, or at least, not one that needed to be done regularly, on women who had shown no signs of ill health.

As she finished the examination, as the nurse told her she'd have to go talk to the doctor in his office, as she got dressed, Claudette composed her rant in her head, filling it with threats and thick legalese, ready to reveal to this sham of an operation that they'd targeted the wrong mark. Her hands balled into determined fists, her purse clutched in front of her like a shield, Claudette sat primly on the chair in from of the doctor's desk, preparing to destroy his practice.

"Oh, hi Claudette," the doctor said as Claudette entered. "Please take a seat." Despite the greeting, the man hadn't even looked up at his patient, instead stroking his chin as he examined a file on the desk in front of him, his expression thoughtful, stern, maybe a little sad. Claudette wasn't buying it. His imitation of Rodin's _the Thinker_ wasn't fooling her. She knew this man was not as important as he thought he was, as important as he wanted everyone else to think he was. He would soon find out that Claudette was not above his attention, and he'd regret the fact that he'd tried to convince her otherwise.

"Dr. Romero," Claudette started, "I want to have a few words with you about your procedure."

Finally looking up from his desk, the doctor sighed. "Claudette," he started with a nod, peering over his glasses, his stare penetrating. "This is the hardest part of my job."

"You're damn right this is the hardest part of your job," Claudette told him. "I know you think this little operation is above reproach, but I'm not fooled. You waste my time, you have your machines manhandle me – "

"Claudette," Romero interjected, trying again, "Your test was positive."

"Well, of course it was positive," Claudette continued, "I don't have anything wrong with me. And how dare you interrupt me?" she continued, obliviously resuming her rehearsed speech. "I'll have you know that my lawyer – "

"No, Claudette," Romero cut her off with an air of finality. "A positive test is not a good thing. It means we found a lump."

Claudette was momentarily shocked into silence. "Does…" she started, "Does that mean?"

"Yes. You definitely have breast cancer."

"Oh," she sputtered, the colour draining out of her face. Her stomach sank, and the browns of Dr. Romero's office began to fade, black tendrils reaching through it as she retreated from the world. "Oh my god." Images flashed through her head, so much more present than the ugly little doctor's office. Her daughter Lisa, her future son-in-law Johnny… They'd have to know. She didn't have much time, but she'd have to do all she could to help their lives, give them all the help she could for their futures.

She had thought she'd have so much more time.

As memories and people far away sprang to the fore of her mind, the smell of antiseptic and the sad face of Dr. Romero slipped away. The world became quiet. And then, Claudette was aware of a buzz, persistent and sporadic. The sound became more and more insistent, separating itself into something that seemed to think of itself as meaningful. Claudette tried to keep her mind on her plans, until the buzz broke through, organizing itself into words. "Claudette?" it was saying. "Claudette, do you need a few minutes?"

"No," she shook her head, replying to Dr. Romero. "What were you saying?"

"If you'd like," Dr. Romero started again, "We can spend some time right now going over some treatment options."


	4. Chapter 4

For the first time that day, the doorbell rang, chasing away the silent pall over the apartment. Lisa went to answer, her heart racing with excitement. She beamed as she saw Mark, his sandy hair nearly glowing in the afternoon light, the smile under his making him look like a conquering Viking, pleased to see land after months on a hostile sea.

"Hi," he said, taking in Lisa, standing in the doorway. "How you doin'?"

"I'm fine," Lisa replied, eager. "Come in."

She rubbed his shoulder with one hand as he sauntered inside. The other hand joined in as soon as the door was closed, and Lisa ushered Mark further into the living room, towards the couch. She nuzzled the back of his arm, drinking in his scent as her fingers continued their exploration of Mark's well-built frame.

"Have a seat," she told him as she led him to the nearest chair. He complied. Slowly strolling around Mark, she ran her hand over the muscles of his bare arm, onto the rugged blue fabric of his shirt, and paused, relishing the feeling of the warm skin of his neck, the pin prick bristles of stubble.

A shiver of excitement went through Mark, not just from the sensation, but from the knowledge that it came from Lisa, Johnny's future wife. And then, almost as soon as it had started, the feeling stopped. Lisa's hand drifted away, drifting, like Lisa, to the coffee table, where an open bottle of wine and two glasses sat waiting.

Lisa gave Mark a quick, sultry glance before leaning down, decanting generous portions into the two glasses. The ruby liquid, the same colour as the drapes and walls surrounding Mark, penning him in, flowed in a crimson stream from the mouth of the bottle, like blood from a bullet wound. Lisa smiled as she handed a glass to Mark, who took it with a look of confusion as her fingers lingered, caressing the back of Mark's hand.

"Thank you," he said with a slight frown.

With a pout, Lisa looked down at her chest, at the knot keeping her sweater draped over her shoulders. "It's hot in here," she commented, tugging at one string, pulling it loose from the knot. The engagement ring on her finger glittering, she untangled the cords, opening the front of the sweater and revealing the smooth, creamy skin underneath. "Do you mind?" she asked.

"No," Mark replied, watching the process closely, suspicious and enthralled. In response, Lisa shrugged out of the sweater, leaving her body covered only by a strapless black dress that hugged her form from just under her arms to her knees. Mark was unable to stop his eyes from scanning her, studying her arms, her shoulders, her graceful neck. His mouth dropped open a little.

Lisa reached out a hand, stroking Mark's arm. Reminding herself of who she was, what was at stake, Mark forced his mouth shut, summoning all his willpower. He almost laughed at the situation he found himself in, shaking his head. "I mean, the candles," he started, attempting to talk his way out, "The music, the sexy dress. What's going on here?" he demanded.

Her smile fading momentarily, Lisa reached behind her to pick of the other glass of wine before stepping forward and lowering herself onto the arm of the chair Mark occupied. She shifted closer, edging towards Mark's slim frame. "I like you," she explained, "Very much." After another moment's thought, she added, "Lover boy."

A gift from Johnny, a diamond bracelet, sparkled from her wrist as she gently put her hand on Mark's cheek, stroking his beard. For half a second, Mark almost forgot that this was Johnny's future wife, but then he gripped her forearm, firmly moving it away. "What are you doing this for?" he asked.

"What's the matter?" Lisa asked, cocking her head innocently. Her hand instantly returned to what it had been doing before Mark tried to stop it. "Don't you like me? I'm your girl," she continued, rubbing the back of his neck, toying with his short hair between her fingertips.

Mark raised his hand, lacing his fingers with hers in a controlled embrace, all his willpower holding him back. "Johnny's my best friend," he pleaded, peeling her hand away from his face for the second time. "Alright? You're going to be married next month, come on," he appealed, obviously assuming this was cold feet.

Her back stiffened, and Lisa placed her wine glass, untouched, back on the table. "Forget," she commanded, bringing her other hand up to caress Mark's other cheek, directing his gaze at her, "About Johnny. This is between you," her thumb traced a path down Mark's lip, "And me."

With a shake of his head, Mark pushed her hand away and leaned forward to put his wine glass back on the coffee table next to Lisa's. "I don't think so," he said, starting to stand. "I'm leaving now."

Lisa leaned forward, off the arm rest, putting her weight on Mark. "Please don't leave," she begged. Mark's eyes widened at the sudden urgency of her tone. "Please don't leave. I need you. I love you," she beseeched him. "I don't want to get married anymore. I don't love Johnny," she announced firmly, her fingers working their way through Mark's hair. "I dream about you," she confessed. "I need you to make love to me." Her eyes searched Mark's, looking for any sign of acceptance.

"I don't think so," Mark baulked. He again tenderly held her hands, moving them inches in front of his face, clasping them in his own, not taking his eyes off Lisa's. "Everything is going to be fine," he assured her. "I promise."

Her eyes cast down with disappointment, Lisa stood, leaving Mark's lap but keeping a grip on his hands. She pulled him up to stand in front of her, and then placed his hands on her cheeks, as she had held Mark's hands moments before. At the sensation of her smooth, perfect skin, all his protests, his argument, his reason left Mark's mind. Lisa slipped her hand behind Mark's neck and pulled him closer, her free handing curling around his wrist.

Their lips pressed together, searching, exploring in a long moment of contact they had both imagined many times. Lisa stood on her toes, bringing herself as close to Mark as she could be, and they held each other like a couple in a dance. A little moan of pleasure escaped Mark as Lisa's nails bit into the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, while Lisa nestled into his hands, still cupped around her face, tendrils of warmth radiating from his fingers into her cheeks.

The seal between them broke as they parted to come up for air. They parted as Lisa lowered herself onto her heels, extending the distance between them even as she gazed up into Mark's eyes. The warmth of her breath lingered on Mark's cheek, as if she was still only half an inch away. His eyes grew wide, his mouth hanging open in shock. He still could not believe what had just happened, half expecting to wake up at any moment.

A knowing smile spreading across her face, her lithe feet prowling around Mark, Lisa held his hand, leading him in the direction of the bedroom. Somehow feeling helpless, Mark followed in her wake onto the steps of the winding staircase to the second floor before he stopped, one hand grasping the railing. Lisa, apparently sensing his hesitation at violating his best friend's trust in so many different ways, turned and sprawled seductively on the curving steps. She grabbed the front of Mark's shirt and pulled him down towards her.

Keeping one hand on the banister and using the other to prop himself up on a stair, Mark placed his knee on the third step, curling over Lisa, his eyes running over her body, sheathed in the skin-tight black dress. Their eyes locked, Lisa's hands wormed into Mark's shirt, slowly working their way down, unbuttoning as they went. After a few moments, the blue shirt hung open, revealing Mark's smooth, well-toned abs.

As Mark shifted, finding a position from which he could dip down to kiss Lisa, her hands wrapped around his bare waist. Soon Mark's shirt hung from the railing, and Lisa had wriggled out of her little black dress and flung it over her head. It had landed and draped across three stairs just above them, as Mark transferred his weight, crouching over Lisa. He braced himself against the railing, wedging his arm between the newels to suspend himself.

Four trails of sensation traced their way up Mark's chest as Lisa's hand followed the line of his abs, to his sternum, finally making their way to the back of his neck. He shivered momentarily and clasped a hand around Lisa's wrist, feeling her flesh, smooth as alabaster, against his rough hands. Sliding his hand down, he found Lisa's shoulder, then her back. His mouth followed, tasting Lisa's skin, exploring her body in every way he could.

A bloom of heat on Mark's neck told him Lisa was doing the same. Stretched against the uneven surface of the spiral staircase, they entwined, seeming to melt into their surroundings, somehow finding a position in perfect harmony with each other and the wooden stairs.

Mark wasn't sure how long they'd been like that, tangled and interlaced, their entire worlds comprised of each other and the staircase in the corner of Johnny and Lisa's apartment, but when they finally parted it felt as if he had lost a piece of himself. As soon as it was clear it was over, Lisa, her face expressionless, crawled up and grabbed her dress, quickly pulling it back on and smoothing the fabric over herself, clearing away the evidence of their crime. Mark zipped up his fly and shrugged back into his shirt, buttoning it as fast as he could, the weight of what they had just done instilling him with a sense of urgency.

Fully dressed, he slumped down, sitting a few stairs down from Lisa. She looked down at him, brushing an unruly lock of blonde hair out of her sparkling green eyes. Mark shook his head and cast his eyes into the living room, unable to look at Lisa's perfect face or body and remind himself of the shame. "Why did you do this to me?" he wondered aloud. "Why? Johnny's my best friend…" Mark trailed off, lapsing into silence, his guilt wrapping icy fingers around his larynx, choking off any further words he may have had.

Lisa studied the stair she sat on, her manicured fingers curled up on the slat of wood, not sure how to respond. "Didn't you enjoy it?" she finally asked hopefully.

Mark's eyes snapped back to Lisa, a look somewhere between disgust and confusion on his face. "That's not the point," he told her.

Not breaking their gaze, Lisa replied, "I love you, Mark."

The strength seemed to drain from Mark's body, and he sagged, his eyes focusing on nothing as he shook his head again. "Look," he started, "You're very attractive. You're beautiful," he quickly corrected himself, paving the way to let Lisa down as gently as possible. "But we can't do this anymore." His face set, Mark tried to make his determination obvious in his posture, a part of his every fiber, even as he put a hand on Lisa's knee, a gesture he hoped would be seen as reassuring. "I can't hurt Johnny."

"I know," Lisa admitted, stroking Mark's fingers. "He's your best friend."

At the feeling of Lisa's hand on his, Mark felt a surge of warmth and protectiveness towards Lisa. "Hey," he said, smiling at her, "This'll be our little secret."

Returning his smile, Lisa leaned down and kissed Mark. Unable to stop himself, Mark felt his hand moving through Lisa's hair, entangling itself in her soft, blonde locks as the heat from their mouths burned between them.


	5. Chapter 5

The first time Denny had met Chris-R had been a surprise, to say the least. He was at the San Francisco Public Library in the Civic Center, studying, when he suddenly became aware that he was no longer studying, that his forehead was pressed into the book that he had been reading. With a start, he sprang up, hoping no one had seen him napping. His eyes immediately fell upon a man sitting across from him, glowering.

The man had no book, and despite the balmy weather that day, was wearing a thick woolen cap, pulled down to his eyebrows. His bare, muscular arms were crossed in a posture of disapproval. "You were sleeping," he had told Denny, his voice brusque.

"I… I'm sorry," Denny had stammered out, not sure why he was apologising.

The man slapped a hand onto the table between them and then raised it to reveal a small pink tablet. "You could use one of these," he had said, sliding the pill across the table to sit next to Denny's book.

"Uh, no thanks," Denny declined, looking from the man to the tablet and back, but the man was already getting up.

"Just think about it," he had said, disappearing between shelves of books.

Denny hadn't meant to take the pill, but he couldn't leave it on the table out in the open. _What if a kid ate it?_ he wondered as he pocketed it. But exams were coming up and he kept falling asleep. And the pill didn't look too different from a caffeine pill. What harm could one pill do?

Within days, Denny was skulking around the public library again, keeping an eye out for the man in the toque, fidgeting and biting his nails. It didn't take long. In fact, it seemed as if the man had been waiting for Denny, materializing almost as soon as Denny arrived.

"You look like you're looking for someone," Chris-R growled as he approached.

"Yeah, you could say that," Denny replied nervously. Lowering his voice into a whisper, he asked, "That pill you gave me… Can I get another?"

Chris-R let out a harsh, cruel laugh. "You can get as many as you want," he said. "But you're gonna have to pay for them."

Swallowing, Denny shifted. "How much?"

"Five bucks a pill."

Denny bit his lip as he dug his hands deep into his pockets, fingering the twenty dollar bill he was carrying. It was the last of his allowance from Johnny for this week. Without it, he would have to survive for the next three days on only the food left in his kitchen – half a loaf of bread, a few apples, a jar of peanut butter and a couple tiny frozen dinners.

Deciding he could make it, he yanked the twenty out of his pocket. "This is all I got," he told Chris-R.

In a flash, Chris-R snatched the bill out of Denny's hand, seconds before pressing four pink tablets, identical to the first one, into Denny's palm. The transaction finished, he turned and began to stalk away.

"W-wait," Denny called after him.

Chris-R's back stiffened and he turned. Denny almost winced as he saw his face, twisted in a furious snarl. His breath seemed to come out in short growls as he stared at Denny.

"Can I get a couple more?" Denny pleaded. "I need this to last through finals."

"Can you pay for them?"

"That twenty was all I had."

Chris-R didn't even respond. He simply turned and continued to walk away.

Denny had carefully partitioned out the pills, sometimes only taking a fraction of one at a time. Finals week went by in a blur, the only clear points for Denny his laser focus on the test materials. When he was finished, so were the pills, and that, he had assumed, was that.

The day after the last exam, Denny had found himself unable to get out of bed. Physically, he felt fine, but somehow it seemed as if the world was crushing him, telling him there was no way he could go on. Eventually he convinced himself to get up, pouring the last of the food in his fridge into his stomach. The food felt insubstantial, and Denny felt weightless, moving through his apartment like a ghost, surrounded by a thick mist that he could barely peer through.

He should have gone to school. He should have gone to find out his grades. Instead, he picked up the allowance Johnny had left for him on his kitchen counter and found himself drifting towards the library. It didn't take long for Chris-R to find him.

"Another four?" the drug dealer asked, watching Denny hungrily.

"No," Denny quickly said. "No, I'm just here to study."

A smirk forming at the teenager's hasty denial, too fast and too insistent to be honest. _Five pills and the kid's already hooked_, he thought, and simply waited. All he needed to do now was let Denny talk himself into another sale.

"And I can't afford it," Denny added in protest against Chris-R's silent argument. He bit his lip. "There's no way I can afford it."

To Chris-R's surprise, Denny got up to leave, apparently having convinced himself he was done. The drug dealer's mind raced, not wanting to lose a customer he had been so sure about. "You go to school, right?" Chris-R asked.

"Yeah," Denny turned around, confusion etching his face.

Chris-R, bolstered by Denny's hesitation, considered the possibilities. High schools were replete with potential sales, but they all remained inaccessible to him. His well-built frame and carefully-trimmed beard meant that he was pretty obviously not a high school student, and would be chased off campus the second he tried to enter. Denny though, Denny was supposed to be at school.

"You need money," Chris-R pointed out, "So how about this: you take these," he held out a small baggy with about five pills inside. "And you see if your friends are interested. If they are, you give me twenty-five bucks and keep whatever mark-up you can get away with. If not, give me the bag back. Alright?" he offered.

"It's a private school," Denny protested.

Private school. Full of rich kids. Chris-R could almost hug Denny. "That's fine," he growled.

Denny took the bag uncertainly. "I'm not sure my friends will want these," he said, but he pocketed the pills regardless.

* * *

Johnny's small white car pulled to a stop on one of San Francisco's many hills, the lush greens and vibrant tropical colours behind the glowing neon _Open_ sign drawing him in like a moth to a flame. His favourite part of the day was when he opened his front door and saw Lisa, waiting for him as always, and he took every opportunity he could to make her stunning smile just a bit wider, to make her perfect green eyes sparkle just a bit more, every time he came home. That image in mind, Johnny put the car into park and hopped out, quickly striding across the sidewalk and through the door into the jungle promised by the storefront.

Anniversary Flowers & Gifts had been a landmark in the neighbourhood for as long as almost anyone could remember. Its owner, a small, wizened dog that had never been seen to move from its perch on the countertop, was rumoured to have made its fortune in an astounding array of fantastical ways. Some said he'd found a thick vein of gold during the San Francisco gold rush. Some said he was a former beloved pet of the Romanovs, and had just barely escaped Russia with luggage full of the royal family's heirlooms. Others supported the more reasonable and less exciting – and therefore most likely – conclusion that he had simply worked hard and invested his money wisely.

Wherever he had come from, the pug was close-lipped about it, often remaining completely silent when asked, or sometimes letting out a low growl if pressed. Customers would sometimes question his employees, thinking they had no particular reason to keep the dog's secrets, but they had nothing to share. At best, those that had seen the deed to Anniversary Flowers & Gifts could confirm that the pug was, in fact, the rightful owner, but besides that, all they could say was that their pay cheques were always signed and on time.

The dog himself was a dedicated worker, and a fair, if firm boss. He was always the first to arrive in the store and the last to leave, always taking his customary position on the counter and watching his domain carefully. If a customer tried to take something without paying, he would know. If an employee tried to take a few extra minutes on their break, they would hear about it. From his heightened place on the counter, his rotund body, covered in fur growing white with age and looking ever more like a marshmallow, the pug surveyed his shop, ensuring everything ran smoothly.

The shop itself was a kaleidoscope of colours, with a rainbow of blossoms exploding from the vases that covered every available inch of surface area. Most of the containers were utilitarian, nothing more that vats made of black PVC, half filled with water before they were stuffed with flowers. Some, however, had been made to please the eye, and had been painted to appear gilded, and glistened in the afternoon light. Shelves of cards lined the walls, and a customer, a tall blonde woman, picked through them carefully, reading each one, looking for the perfect message.

She had been searching a long time, but then, this was a hard message to give to someone. An even harder message to receive. _We express our condolences_… She didn't even finish, closing the card and slamming it back into its slot in disgust. Too robotic. Her hand hovered over the next sympathy card, wondering if it could possible contain the bottomless sorrow she felt.

Johnny strode confidently into the shop. "Hi," he greeted the woman behind the counter.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yeah, can I have a dozen red roses, please?" Johnny asked, flipping his dark sunglasses up onto his forehead.

"Oh, hi Johnny," the cashier replied, recognizing his eyes, "I didn't know it was you." She retrieved a pre-prepared bouquet from beside the counter and passed it to Johnny. "Here you go."

"That's me! How much is it?"

"It'll be eighteen dollars."

"Here you go. Keep the change." Johnny reached out and scratched the head of the flower shop's proprietor. It blinked and nodded in acknowledgement. "Hi doggie."

"You're my favourite customer," the cashier called out to Johnny's retreating form.

"Thanks a lot," Johnny said, leaving through the open door, holding the bouquet upside down. "Bye."

"Bye bye!"

Less than five seconds later, Johnny was in his car, joyfully driving home to see Lisa.


	6. Chapter 6

"Yeah," Lisa said into the receiver, the phone pressed to her ear, as she exited the kitchen. She had changed out of her slinky black dress, but had still felt in the mood for dark colours, and was wearing a black sleeveless top and a long skirt, covered in red blooms over a black background. "Delivery," she added, closing the door behind her. "555-4828. Half Canadian bacon with pineapple, half artichoke with pesto and light on the cheese. Thanks." She ended the call with a beep and put the phone back down on the table.

The doorbell rang.

"Who is it?" Lisa called out.

"Denny," came the voice on the other side of the door.

With a smile, Lisa opened the door to let him in. "Hey, Denny," she greeted him. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Denny blushed. "What's new with you?"

"Actually, I'm really busy. Do you want something to drink?" Lisa offered.

"No, thanks," Denny declined. "I just want to talk to Johnny." He blinked, cocking his head to the side as if he was just noticing Lisa at that second. "You look beautiful today," he observed with a growing smile. He ducked his head down, trying to look endearing and emphasize his naiveté. "Can I kiss you?" he entreated.

Lisa gave a little gasp of faux scandalisation. "You are such a little brat!" she told Denny, trying not to laugh.

"I'm just kidding," Denny whined, backpedaling. "I love you and Johnny."

"Okay, okay," Lisa reassured him, accepting the apology. "Johnny's going to be here any minute. You can wait if you want," she proposed.

"Hmm," Denny thought, considering his options. "I gotta go. You'll tell him I stopped by?"

"Of course I will," Lisa promised, Denny absorbing her words with a grin.

"Bye."

"Bye."

Denny disappeared as quickly as he had come, closing the door behind him.

A few minutes later, Johnny's small, boxy white car was pulling into the driveway of the townhouse. As a passing bus thundered by, Johnny opened the door. His hand held behind his back, hiding the bouquet of roses he had just bought, he quickly spotted Lisa, who threw him a stunning smile and put her book down as she rose to meet him.

"Hi, babe," he greeted her. He swung the bouquet out from behind his back, conjuring a spray of roses and baby's breath. "These are for you."

Lisa took the bouquet happily, beaming at the blossoms. "Thanks honey," she enthused, "They're beautiful." She leaned in and planted a warm kiss on Johnny's cheek. "Did you get the promotion?"

"Nah," Johnny said, rolling his eyes as his shoulders slumped, defeated. He trudged away, sinking down onto the couch.

For a moment, Lisa watched him, clutching the bouquet of roses to herself, hugging them to her chest. Finally she sighed, putting the roses in a glass vase she'd been carrying and placing them on the coffee table and then sitting across from Johnny. "You didn't get it," she criticized, "Did you?"

"That son of a bitch told me I would get it within three months!" Johnny exclaimed, the rage exploding out of him. "I saved them bundles! They're crazy! I don't think I will ever get it," he continued as Lisa busied her hands arranging and rearranging the roses. "They betrayed me, they didn't keep their promise, they tricked me, and I don't care anymore."

Giving up her quest for the perfect flower arrangement, Lisa slumped back in her chair. "Did you tell them how much you save them?" she asked.

"Of course," Johnny ranted, "What do you think? They already put my ideas into practice." He stopped and sighed before adding, as summary, "The bank saves money, and they are using me, and I am the fool."

"I still love you," Lisa offered, a sweet smile plastered across her lips.

"You're the only one who does," Johnny mused.

Lisa's smile faltered, her back stiffened. "At least you have friends," she pointed out, "I didn't get any calls today. You're right." As she nodded, Lisa looked back at Johnny's gift of flowers. "The computer business is too competitive." An impish look on her face, Lisa's eyes rose to meet Johnny's. "You want me to order a pizza?"

"Whatever," Johnny groaned, "I don't care."

"I already ordered a pizza," Lisa grinned.

Johnny favoured this with a chuckle. "You think about everything." The moment of levity passed, and Johnny lapsed into silence, staring at the bowl of fruit on the coffee table in front of him, brooding.

Her eyes full of concern, Lisa tilted her head. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Are you all right? It's just a lousy promotion," she consoled Johnny. "You know what you need?"

Johnny looked up, intrigued.

"You need a drink."

"I don't drink," Johnny chuckled. "You know that!"

Lisa pursed her lips. A few minutes later, after the pizza had arrived and sat open, inviting, on the coffee table, she slipped away, only to come back with two tumblers made of cut crystal, half filled with red wine. Johnny watched her progress with amusement. A bottle of vodka was tucked under one arm, and, as she set the glasses down, she righted the bottle and unscrewed the cap. She shot Johnny a triumphant look as the vodka opened before filling the two glasses with the clear, potent liquid.

The smell of pesto, garlic, tomato and bread filled the room, a cornucopia of pleasures. Johnny breathed it in as Lisa passed him one of the glasses, holding the other one. "Don't worry about it," she told him as he looked down uncertainly at the light red liquid he held. "It's good for you."

As if to prove it, Lisa brought her glass to her lips and easily drank a long sip of the mixture. In response, Johnny put his glass back on the table with an audible clatter. "You must be crazy," he motioned at the wine and vodka, "I can't drink this."

Lisa placed her drink on the coffee table before putting Johnny's drink back in his hand. "If you love me, you'll drink it," she giggled, her hand resting on Johnny's. She guided the concoction back to his mouth, tipping the glass and giving him a gulp large enough that Johnny began to sputter.

The drink moved away from Johnny's face with Lisa's hand, but Johnny focused on the glass with a newfound appreciation. "You're right," he nodded. "It tastes good." He let out a short chuckle.

"I know," Lisa said with a haughty raise of her chin, raising her glass as she spoke. "I am right." She took another sip of the wine and vodka. "Don't worry about those fuckers. You're a good man." Overcome by giddiness, she giggled, "Drink and let's have some fun."

The two crystal glasses clinked together in a quick toast before Johnny shrugged and joined Lisa, drinking deeply. The wine and vodkas were quickly drained, keeping pace with the emptying pizza box. As Johnny and Lisa enjoyed their dinner, guzzling their drinks, they refilled their glasses from the half-full bottle of vodka, still sitting on the coffee table. The night wore on, the strong, clear liquid disappearing.

Johnny and Lisa took no notice, lost in the moment and each others' eyes. Playfully, Lisa had removed her future husband's already loosened and lopsided tie and placed it on her head, wearing it like a headband. Johnny chuckled at his future wife's head wear.

Finally, Lisa inverted the bottle of vodka, letting the final drops drip into her glass. She rose to stand next to Johnny, where they had been dancing moments ago, and put the drink to her lips. Johnny did the same, and they both raced to finish the several full mouthfuls of pure, unadulterated vodka in both their glasses. As Lisa finished hers, Johnny tried to catch up, a stream of alcohol dribbling down his chin, trickling over his neck and spreading across the front of his shirt. Seeing this, Lisa collapsed onto the couch, helplessly dissolving into giggles.

Finishing the glass, Johnny cast it aside, shattering it on the ground. Pushing his long black hair back, tucking it behind his ears, he studied Lisa from his position above her. "You have nice legs, Lisa," he observed.

Guffawing, Lisa pointed up at Johnny. "And you have nice pecs," she laughed.

Johnny chuckled in response. "I'm tired, I'm wasted," he rattled off, "I love you, darling!"

Still fighting back giggles, Lisa smiled invitingly. "Come on," she beckoned, "Make love to me."

Wobbling where he stood, Johnny groaned, clutching his stomach.

"Come on," Lisa pleaded, insistent. "You own me one." Reaching out, Lisa grabbed Johnny's hand, pulling him down to sit next to her on the couch. Johnny wrapped his arm around Lisa's shoulders, settling in to nestle next to her.

"I love you, Lisa," he told her.

Lisa smiled. "I love you," she replied, beginning to unbutton Johnny's shirt, still damp with vodka, "Johnny." Suddenly, she dug her fingers into the fabric, balling it in her hands, before ripping the garment open and revealing Johnny's bare chest. Buttons scattered, sounds of them clattering against the ground coming from all over the living room.

The fabric still clutched in Lisa's fists, she yanked her future husband towards her, beaming. She kept him pressed as close to her as she could as they kissed. For a long time, they simply stayed in that position, feeling each others' warmth. Eventually though, they stumbled upstairs. Unknowingly, and without a second glance, Johnny passed over the spot on the stairs where his best friend had, that day, entwined so intimately with his future wife, the same way Johnny intended to.

Like the night before, Lisa lit candles and put on music, preparing their bedroom. She smiled seductively at Johnny as she slowly removed her skirt and top, and Johnny cast aside his shirt, now missing most of its buttons. Both their heads swimming, they tumbled into the bed together, their closeness chasing away the rest of the day, the trials they had faced when they had been apart. For minutes or for hours or for days or for years they embraced, enraptured in each others' forms, until they both fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

"So I'm organising a party," Lisa explained, sitting on a pillow at the base of the spiral staircase, "For Johnny's birthday. Can you come?" Shiny black boots covered her from her feet almost to her knees, and clipboard was sitting across her crossed legs.

"When is it?" Claudette asked, perched on the seat across from Lisa.

"Next Friday at six," Lisa told her mother. "It's a surprise. You can bring someone if you want."

"Well, sure, I can come. But…" Claudette grimaced, clasping her mug of coffee in both hands, "I don't know if I'll bring anybody." She gasped, a thought occurring to her. "That jerk Harold," she hissed. "He wants me to give him a share of my house. That house belongs to me. He has no right." She leaned forward, as if sharing a conspiracy with Lisa "I'm not giving him a penny. Who does he think he is?" she demanded, settling back into her chair, her argument settled, as far as she was concerned.

"He's your brother," Lisa reminded her mother, putting her own steaming mug of coffee to the side.

"He is always bugging me about my house," Claudette whined, as if she had not been interrupted. "Fifteen years ago, we agreed that house belongs to me," she continued. Lisa sighed and rolled her eyes. She had heard this story many times before. "Now the value of the house is going up and he's seeing dollar signs. Everything goes wrong at once. Nobody wants to help me, and I'm dying." Claudette took a deep sip of coffee, as if trying to drown her last few words. It was too late. They were out there now, hanging in the air between her and her daughter, far too soon. She wasn't ready to have told Lisa yet. She wasn't ready to have told anyone yet. She wasn't ready.

"You're not dying, mom," Lisa sighed, used to her mother's melodrama.

Claudette steeled herself. She couldn't take back what she had already said. It wasn't the time she would have picked, but now was the time to tell her daughter the truth. All she could do was keep herself together, stay as calm as possible to reassure Lisa. "I got the results of the test back," she started, as if it didn't bother her one whit. "I definitely have breast cancer."

For a moment, Claudette wondered if her stoic nature had cushioned the blow of her words a little too much. Her daughter looked taken aback by the news, but only a little, and only for a moment. "Look, don't worry about it," she responded. "Everything will be fine. They're curing lots of people every day."

Claudette nodded. That part was true. The list of treatment options her doctor had gone over didn't exactly sound pleasant, but they had a high success rate. Unfortunately they also had a high cost. Paying for them would almost bankrupt her – if she didn't have to deal with her brother trying to lay a claim to her house. Now, it all seemed beyond reach. "I'm sure I'll be alright," she conceded, agreeing with Lisa to reassure her. "Oh," she raised a finger, thinking of another topic, a distraction, "I heard Edward is talking about me. He is a hateful man." Claudette took a sip of her coffee, a sneer of distaste working its way across her features. "I'm so glad I divorced him."

"Don't worry about it," Lisa insisted. "You just concentrate on getting well."

"Well, at least you have a good man," Claudette sighed.

It was the one thought she had to cling to. She might not survive for long, and she might not be able to put much aside to leave to her daughter, certainly not enough to provide the life she deserved. Johnny was her best hope for Lisa's future. The best thing she could do was encourage her daughter to stay with her future husband, and she'd never have to worry about money.

"You're wrong," Lisa spat. Claudette tilted her head in confusion, unsure what her daughter could be talking about. "Mom, he's not what you think he is," Lisa told her mother. "He didn't get his promotion. And he got drunk last night."

At the first bit of news, Claudette rolled her eyes – it wasn't exactly an earth-shattering, end of the world development – but at the second she focused on her daughter. It still wasn't the worst thing to hear, but it was unexpected.

Unsatisfied by her mother's response, Lisa added, "And he hit me."

"Johnny doesn't drink," Claudette pointed out, her daughter's words making little sense. "What are you talking about?"

"He did last night," Lisa maintained. "And I don't love him anymore."

Claudette sighed, her daughter's future well-being slipping away right in front of her. "Johnny is your financial security," she reminded Lisa. "You can't afford to ignore this."

"Yeah, okay, mom," Lisa sighed, defeated. "Can I just talk to you later?"

"You don't want to talk to me," Claudette groaned, throwing her hands up in the air.

A slight smile tracing her lips, Lisa leaned forward. "I just got done talking with a client, and now I have to get ready to meet him," she told her mother, before repeating, "Can I just talk to you later?"

"Okay," Claudette agreed, setting aside her mug of coffee and retrieving her purse. "I will see you later." She planted a small kiss on her fingertip before tapping her daughter's nose. Lisa grinned and crinkled her nose at their customary goodbye, and then watched her mother let herself out of the dimly lit condo, her smile disappearing as soon as she knew she was alone.

* * *

Tentatively, Michelle pushed the unlocked door to the condo open, holding a textbook in one hand and her boyfriend Mike's hand in the other. Mike trailed behind, more unsettled by the appropriation of the condo than his girlfriend. Michelle's confidence bolstered him, and he soon relaxed, although he didn't loosen his grip on the small box of chocolates he carried, now clutched in his hand like a comfort blanket. As the door closed behind them, Mike scanned the room, appreciatively taking in the romantic setting – the red walls, the candles, the ornate columns decorating the doors. Michelle had been right. This was the perfect place for them to enjoy each other's company.

Michelle turned, smiling as she pressed herself to Mike, one hand against the thick wool of his sweater. "How much time do we have?" she asked.

"I don't know," Mike stammered, still peering into every corner of the room, trying to reassure himself that they were alone. "Uh, a couple hours?" he guessed, nodding with false bravado. "At least."

Her smile widening, Michelle turned away, practically skipping towards the couch. "Well," she said, sitting down in the luxurious pile of pillows and sheepskin blankets, "Let's have some fun." Sprawling out, her long legs enhanced by her skin-tight jeans, her black tank top exposing her arms and cleavage, she posed invitingly.

Sitting down next to her, Mike flipped open the top on the box of chocolates. "Did you, uh, know," he started nervously, taking out a piece of chocolate as a visual aid, "That chocolate is the symbol of love?" he asked, before letting out a short laugh.

Warmly, Michelle giggled in response, Mike's sincere if clumsy attempt at seduction proving genuinely endearing. "Feed me," she commanded, relaxing against the soft furs covering the sofa.

Obediently, Mike put the open box of chocolates aside, on the coffee table, before leaning forward. He popped the chocolate in Michelle's mouth, and she clutched it between her teeth. Mike wasn't sure how to respond, until Michelle rose up to meet him in a kiss. He opened his mouth to receive it, and for a long moment they explored each other, warmth and the sweet taste of chocolate mingling between them. Overcome, their hands raced across each other's bodies as they became hopelessly lost in the moment.

Finally they parted, each savouring the lingering taste of chocolate. Eager to begin the experience again, Mike snatched another candy from the box and held it out to Michelle. Pursing her lips, teasingly, she kept her mouth closed, instead arching her back, tilting her head to offer her neck and chest. Quickly getting the idea, Mike rubbed the chocolate against her throat, and lower down on her upper chest, letting some of the smooth, velvety sweetness melt against Michelle's skin before he placed the rest of the chocolate on her neck. He put his mouth against Michelle's chest, licking and sucking the chocolate from her body as a small moan of pleasure escaped her lips.

"Yum," she groaned seductively.

"It's delicious," Mike agreed, his mouth full of chocolate. Michelle guided his head back down onto her chest, relishing the feel of his mouth against her bare flesh.

After another few seconds she pushed him back up, so they both sat upright on the couch. "Arms up," she directed.

With a grin, Mike complied, raising both arms straight above his head as if he was declaring a touchdown. Michelle grabbed the bottom of his sweater and rolled it up, over his arms, throwing it aside impatiently before shoving Mike down.

Mike watched Michelle, ready for any further cues, when she grabbed another piece of chocolate. "Chocolate is the symbol of love," she reiterated, dropping the treat into her boyfriend's mouth. She kissed him, tasting some of the chocolate for herself, before she began to move lower, tasting first Mike's neck, then his chest, then his stomach as she loosened his belt.

Still chewing on the chocolate, Mike's eyes went wide.

* * *

Mike and Michelle had just gotten dressed and were still sitting on the couch when the door opened and Lisa entered, followed by her mother. Instantly, Mike threw his sweater on over his t-shirt and he and Michelle hopped to their feet, grabbing their box of chocolates. The tag of Mike's sweater hung just under his chin, the sweater inside-out and backwards, and Michelle's clothes were rumpled in some places and pulled taut in others. Unable to contain herself, Lisa burst out laughing, although her mother adopted a look of the greatest offense.

"What are these characters doing here?" Claudette asked, inadvertently breaking the fourth wall.

Still laughing, Lisa replied, "They like to come here and do their…" she trailed off, not sure she wanted to complete that thought, instead thinking of a proper excuse, or at least a euphemism. "Homework," she finally finished.

"What homework?" Claudette demanded, raising an eyebrow.

"Mom, this is Michelle's boyfriend Mike," Lisa said, attempting to diffuse the situation through a round of introductions. "Mike, this is my mother."

Mike stiffly held out his hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he tried awkwardly, his hand still hanging in the air. When it became clear Claudette was not going to take the offered hand, in fact was not even going to deign to look at Mike, he let his hand drop and fled the condo.

"Bye," Michelle said quickly as she followed, in so much of a rush she forgot to even close the door behind her.

Lisa gave her a little wave as she left the room, but all Claudette had was an annoyed scoff before she made her way to the sofa, only vacated moments ago. She sat down, exhausted from her hours of shopping with her daughter. "All that shopping wore me out," she groaned, more to herself than to Lisa.

"Hey, Lisa," came a voice from the entranceway as Denny burst in through the open door.

"Hey, Denny," Lisa answered, returning the greeting. "Denny, this is my mom," she continued, restarting the introductions. "Mom, this is Denny."

"How many people come in and out of this apartment every day?" Claudette wondered, entirely reasonably, as far as she was concerned. In the past few seconds alone she had seen three different people – other than herself and her daughter – come through Johnny and Lisa's condo, all clearly uninvited. Denny hadn't so much as knocked, instead choosing to simply barge in, and from her daughter's explanation, it seemed as if Michelle and Mike often let themselves in when no one was home. "This is worse than Grand Central Station."

"I just need to borrow some sugar," Denny pleaded, not sure what he had done to provoke Claudette's wrath.

"Help yourself, Denny," Lisa told him gently, trying to erase the sting of her mother's words.

Shyly, self-consciously, apologetically, Denny shrugged. "I also need a cup of flour, and half a stick of butter," he admitted.

Lisa grinned and nodded, amused by Denny's naïve combination of uncertainty and cheek.

Denny's bashful charm did nothing to appease Claudette's mood, or to endear himself to her. "Doesn't your home have a kitchen?" she demanded. Lisa shot her a look of reproach.

"I'll come back later," Denny shrugged, instinctively knowing it was time to duck out.

Lisa watched Denny retreat and close the door behind him, before she stalked over to the couch where her mother sat, slinging her purse from her shoulder and dropping it on the floor.

"Tell me," Claudette began as her daughter sank onto the couch next to her, "What does Denny do?"

"Johnny wanted to adopt Denny," Lisa explained. Claudette pursed her lips. From his appearance, she had assumed Denny was far older than her daughter's words indicated. That said, with the difference in age between Denny and Johnny, even if he was as mature as she had estimated, it was possible that this had happened years ago, well before Denny would have grown out of the age at which he would need a legal guardian. "It's really a tragedy how many kids out there don't have parents. When Denny turned eighteen, Johnny found him a little apartment in this building and he's paying for it until he graduates from school," Lisa continued, her respect for her future husband radiating from her warm words. "Johnny really loves Denny, even though he doesn't say it much. He's like," she thought about it for a moment, "A father figure to him. I told you mom, Johnny is very caring about the people in his life," she gushed. "And he gave Denny his own set of keys to our place," she finished.

"Please," Claudette begged, the saintliness of her future son-in-law further reinforced by Lisa's glowing testimonial – despite her newfound loathing that she claimed for her future husband. "Don't hurt Johnny. If you really don't love him, so be it," she conceded, "But you should tell him."

Suddenly, the door opened, and Mike burst in. He raced over to the coffee table, vaulting over a shopping bag. "I forgot my, uh, book," he stuttered, coming up with his excuse as he spoke. He fell onto the sofa next to Claudette, practically hip-checking the woman as he reached over and grasped for the textbook on the coffee table.

As Mike picked up the book, Claudette felt something shifting on the couch, something moving against her body. She snatched at whatever was violating her space, seizing a bunch of fabric. At first the material seemed anchored in place, immoveable, but she wrenched it free, holding the bundle up. "What's this?" she demanded.

A wide, elastic band circled the bundle of fabric, and Claudette held it up by that thick stretchy loop. The shape of the garment became clear as two short legs unfolded, the loose, soft fabric of the boxer shorts untangling out of the ball into which Mike had compressed them. Lisa let out a snort of laughter, and her mother followed suit, too overcome by the absurdity of the situation for the full implications – namely that she probably should have checked for wet spots before she sat down – to seem to matter.

Mike quickly snatched his underwear out of Claudette's hands before once again fleeing, disappearing out of the condo as quickly as he could run. The sounds of Lisa and her mother's laughter chased him out, his ears burning with humiliation as he escaped into the bright sunlight outside.

"Homework!" Claudette repeated in exasperation, her hands gesturing wildly at the closed door.

"Don't worry about it," Lisa barely managed to get out, nearly overwhelmed with the giggles bubbling out of her.

"If I were a burglar, you would be my best friend," Claudette said, clapping a hand on her daughter's knee. For some reason the words sent a sudden shock of realisation, and idea she couldn't believe had come from her own mind, racing through Claudette. She shook it off as quickly as it had come.

"Look, I don't want to talk about it," Lisa shook her head.

Fixing an intense stare at her daughter, Claudette hardened her face, looking as stern as she could. "You know I worry about you," she told her. The thought she was sure she'd gotten rid of only moments ago flickered back through her brain. "I have to go home," she abruptly excused herself.

"Okay mom," Lisa replied, her wide green eyes sad to see her mother go.

For the second time that day, Claudette kissed her finger, pressing it to her daughter's nose. Lisa mimed a kiss in return as her mother's finger made contact. "Bye bye," Claudette said as she stood.

"Bye," Lisa mouthed at her mother's retreating back. As Claudette left, carrying a leopard print shopping bag, the door closing behind her, Lisa sank into the sofa in defeat. "Oh my god," she moaned aloud for no reason in particular.


	8. Chapter 8

Running shoes slammed into the steps, pounding up the flight of stairs as Chris-R, enraged, climbed up to the roof. He needed the money Denny had promised, was desperate for it. And besides, even if he wasn't, he couldn't afford to let a debt slide. Image was everything.

Image was the entire reason Chris-R had dubbed himself Chris-R. He couldn't go around calling himself Chris. No one heard Chris and thought _gangster_. When asked what his chosen name meant, what the R stood for, Chris-R would always reply that it meant he would Wreck Yo' Shit. He had to say something like that, even if he inwardly cringed every time he said it. He could never let anyone know what he really wished it meant.

_Rocker_. That was what he always secretly wanted his nickname to be. All his life, he had loved working with wood. It calmed his normally hair-trigger temper the way he could shape, sculpt and smooth with only a few simple tools, turning mere boards and nails into functional, beautiful works of art. What's more, he was good at it. His specialty was rocking chairs. The strong but gentle arc of the runners, the stern but loving form of the seat, all gilded with his own fanciful carvings, a perfect perch from which to sit on a porch and watch the warm afternoon sun sink to the horizon, the light turning orange and red as it faded.

In an ideal world, Chris-R would be known for his gorgeous rocking chairs.

He had once had plans of becoming a carpenter. Maybe apprenticing to someone after high school, eventually getting his own shop. Sometimes, on his most hopeful days, he decided he didn't need all that, that he could buy a load of materials and work out of his garage. Discerning clients would forgive the lack of a storefront. They'd know to look at Chris-R's workmanship to judge the quality of his labours.

Of course, Chris-R knew that would never happen. His home was small, and far too cramped, especially with his mother living with him her dialysis machine taking up the better part of the single bedroom. He'd tried to put money aside, but there was no way, not with the constant flow of medical bills. All Chris-R could do was scrape and salvage as much as he could, devoting every waking moment to keeping his and his mother's lives afloat. He'd had to resort to things he never pictured himself doing, things he had thought himself above before his mother got sick. A cold knot of anger burned in his heart as he imagined the life he thought he would have, remembered the slow realisation that it had slipped away.

_Hold onto that_, he thought. He needed his anger. His rage smouldered like the sun as he threw open the door at the top of the stairs and spotted Denny, obliviously dribbling a basketball across the roof. The eighteen-year-old was pacing across the roof, hemmed in by waist high brick walls. A set of white patio chairs and a table was shoved into the far corner.

Chris-R paused, taking a deep breath of the cool air that hovered over the city, as he waited for Denny to turn around, to notice him, to realise for himself what was coming. The sounds of the ball bouncing abruptly stopped as Denny saw Chris-R, his face falling in fear.

His thick, muscular arms swinging, his black toque pulled down low over his brow, Chris-R scowled as he strode forward. Denny clutched the ball in front of him as if he could shield himself from the approaching storm.

"Hey, Denny," Chris-R growled, closing the distance between himself and Denny even though they were already only two feet apart.

"Chris-R," Denny returned, nervously attempting a smile. "I've been looking for you."

Denny went to dribble again, not sure whether he was trying to appear confident or whether he just needed to do something to keep his hands from trembling, but Chris-R snatched the basketball out of his grip. "Yeah, sure you have," he snarled. "You have my money, right?"

"Yeah, it's coming," Denny lied, looking down at the cement roof of the apartment building, trying to peer through the concrete as he searched for a way out. "It'll be here in a few minutes," he stalled.

There was a series of thumps, the first deafening to Denny, then growing quieter and quieter until they faded away, seeming to recede into the distance, as Chris-R dropped the basketball and let it roll away. He stepped back a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek as he mulled over Denny's words, and for a moment Denny flattered himself that his ruse had worked and he had bought himself some time. "What do you mean it's coming, Denny?" he demanded before leaning down, bringing himself only inches away from Denny's face. "Where's my money?"

Denny backed away, licking his lips as his mind raced. "Okay," he started, sputtering, "Just… Just give me five minutes." Chris-R stepped back again, but from the look on his face, Denny could tell he wasn't happy. "Just give me five!" Denny insisted.

Chris-R nodded, as if he was giving the notion serious thought. "Five minutes?" he repeated, and Denny nodded dumbly in agreement. "You want five fucking minutes, Denny? You know what?" In a single smooth motion, Chris-R reached behind him, shoving his hand beneath his shirt before whipping it back out, a blur of shining steel extending from his fingers. For half a moment the black hole of the barrel of the gun pointed directly at Denny's eye. "I don't got five fucking minutes!" Chris-R roared.

Denny felt a huge, powerful hand clamp over the back of his neck, squeezing so hard he thought he heard tendons straining not to snap. A strong shove forced him to double over. Out of the corner of his eye, Denny could still see Chris-R's hand brandishing the handgun, waving it around wildly. There was sharp pain as something – a knee? – was thrust into Denny's back, holding him prostrate. Cold, heavy metal pressed into the nape of Denny's neck, promising a hot trail of lead through the base of his skull.

Hot breath seared past Denny's ear as Chris-R lowered himself, crouching close enough for Denny to hear his whisper. "I'm going to ask you again, Denny," Chris-R told him, his voice calmer than Denny had ever heard it. "Where's my money?"

His throat tightening, Denny could only whimper in response at first. "I don't have anything," he finally admitted in a high-pitched whine.

"Where's my money, Denny?" Chris-R demanded again. "Where's my fucking money?" he screamed. Crying, Denny winced at the force of his voice. "What did you do with my fucking money?"

"I swear to God it's coming," Denny sobbed, retreating to his previously abandoned story.

"Where's my fucking money, Denny?" Chris-R persisted, maintaining his deafening volume only inches from Denny's ear.

Wracked with sobs, Denny curled further into the fetal position. "Put the gun down," he begged.

The door to the rooftop opened. At the scene suddenly revealed before him, Johnny's calm expression jolted into shock before hardening into resolve. As the words, "Where's my fucking money, Denny? Where's my money?" repeated on endless loop, echoing across the rooftops, Johnny raced forward, followed closely by Mark.

Johnny slammed into Chris-R first, ramming into him from behind and taking him by surprise. Chris-R threw his arms up, flailing at the unexpected attack. Seeing the perfect opportunity, Mark grasped Chris-R's gun, grappling with his grip on the pistol. As Denny crawled away, tears streaming from his eyes, Johnny wrapped his hands around Chris-R's shoulder and arm, wrestling him into a hold. There was a clatter out metal on stonework as the flimsy patio furniture was upended, thrown to the ground in the struggle.

With an expert's precision, Mark wrenched the gun free, pointing it at Chris-R. Defeated, the drug dealer slumped, raising his hands in surrender.

There was a scream from the stairs leading up from the apartments below. "What's going on here?" Lisa cried, her hand clutched in her mother's. "Somebody help!" she yelped, despite the strong grip Mark and Johnny had on Chris-R's wrists and the gun Mark was pointing at the man's head.

Johnny and Mark jerked Chris-R to his feet, dragging him towards the stairwell. Confused and scared, Claudette pulled her daughter out of the way. "Let's take him to the police," Johnny suggested.

"You're fucking dead!" Chris-R threatened as he was pulled down the stairs.

Lisa rushed over to where Denny was recovering, his frame hunched over the brick boundary between the rooftop and empty space. "Denny, are you okay?" she asked, her arms wrapping protectively around the traumatised teen. "What did that man want from you?"

"Nothing," Denny sobbed, his face contorting as he cried.

"Oh, that was not nothing," Claudette scoffed.

"Tell me everything," Lisa pleaded, forcing herself to weep as she made her face a mirror of Denny's.

Pushing her daughter aside, Claudette told Denny, "You have no idea what kind of trouble you're in here, do you?"

Denny's lower lip jutted out as he swallowed back his tears. "I owe him some money," Denny confessed.

"What kind of money?" Lisa demanded.

"I owe him some money," Denny repeated with a shrug.

"What kind of money?" Lisa insisted adamantly.

"Everything is okay, he's gone!" Denny evaded, his brow furrowed.

Disbelief flashed across Claudette's face. "Everything is not okay," she told him. "Denny, that is a dangerous man."

"Calm down, he's going to jail," Denny whined, his barely-suppressed tears stinging his eyes, threatening to come pouring out as Claudette's questioning overwhelmed him.

"Denny, what kind of money? Just tell me," Lisa demanded again.

"What do you need money for?" Claudette asked suspiciously.

"Mom, please," Lisa whirled on her mother, "Denny is with me and Johnny."

"A man like that, with a gun," Claudette reminded Lisa. "My God."

Calming herself, Lisa turned back to Denny. "Denny, look at me in the eyes and tell me the truth. We're your friends."

Taking a deep breath, Denny looked up, finding a sense of safety in Lisa's green eyes, rimmed with tears. "I bought some drugs from him," he finally confessed. At his admission, Claudette rolled her eyes and mouthed an expletive in frustration. "Things got mixed up. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Denny," Lisa sobbed in a long, low moan.

"But I don't have them anymore!" Denny added quickly, trying to minimize his mistake.

"What kind of drugs, Denny?" Lisa cried.

"It doesn't matter, I don't have them anymore!" Denny again claimed.

"It doesn't matter?" Claudette repeated, disbelief turning into rage. Despite the fact that she had only met Denny once before, she could not understand how the eighteen-year-old could be so stupid. "How in the hell did you get involved with drugs?" Her words cut deep, and Denny resumed his weeping. "What, were you giving them to him, selling them to him?" Claudette continued, fundamentally misunderstanding the drug dealer-user relationship. "Where in the hell did you meet that man?"

Without warning, Lisa screamed, "What kind of drugs do you take?"

"It was nothing like that!" Denny asserted nonsensically.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Lisa screeched.

"I just needed some money to pay off some stuff," Denny specified.

Lisa was not appeased. "How much do you have to give him?" she wanted to know.

"This is not the way you make money, young man," Claudette chastised.

"How much?!" Lisa shrieked.

"Stop ganging up on me!" Denny blubbered, bawling like a little girl.

"Well, it is time somebody ganged up on you," Claudette fumed. "For God's sake, a man like that – where in the hell did you meet a man like that?" she demanded, interrupting herself in her fury.

"It doesn't matter," Denny sniveled.

"It matters a great deal," Claudette raged, way too invested in the life of someone she'd really only just met. "A man holds a gun on you, you almost got killed. You expect me to forget that?"

"You're not my fucking mother!" Denny shot back, making a good point.

Her wrath now completely awakened, Claudette grabbed the front of Denny's blue and yellow striped shirt. "You listen to me, boy," she hissed.

"No!" Lisa threw herself in the way of her mother's ire, hugging Denny to her chest. His tears soaked into the front of her bright red shirt, leaving two wet circles of misery.

Claudette made another grab for Denny and was once again blocked by Lisa. She grabbed her daughter's hand, trying to wrest it from its protective position and twisting it away. "Somebody had better do something around here," she urged, her face flush with anger. Watching her daughter stroke Denny's hair, trying to comfort the crying teenager and quiet his continued whine, Claudette stepped away.

"It's okay," Lisa murmured to Denny, "It's okay."

At that point, Johnny and Mark returned, having conveniently found an on-duty police officer the moment they'd exited the apartment building. The drug dealer's gun and the myriad baggies full of an assortment of drugs he'd stashed in every pocket, not to mention his continued, enraged death threats he constantly shouted at everyone he saw, were enough to convince the cop to arrest him without taking a statement from either Johnny or Mark.

"Are you okay, Denny?" Johnny asked as he raced to Denny's side, his voice strained. He put his arm over Denny's shoulder, cradling him.

"I'm okay," Denny answered.

"Are you okay?" Johnny demanded again, his eyes scanning Denny for any sign of injury.

"I'm okay!" Denny insisted.

"What's okay?" Claudette broke in stepping forward again. Sensing danger, Mark put his hands on her shoulders, holding her back and hoping to calm the raging senior. "He's taking drugs," she announced.

As Johnny embraced Denny, letting the young boy's head fall onto his shoulder and putting a reassuring hand on his scalp, Mark clutched Claudette's shoulders tighter, tugging her towards his chest. "Come on, stop," he urged her, "It was a mistake."

"A mistake?" Claudette repeated contemptuously. "That he takes drugs?"

Denny's head nestled in the crook of Johnny's neck, Johnny muttered softly, "Let's go home."

"Come on, it's clear," Mark told Claudette, motioning to the drug dealer-free rooftop around them.

"What's clear?" Claudette snarled. "I am going to call the police."

"Mom, stop!" Lisa pleaded desperately. "It was Denny's mistake, just stop!"

Claudette groaned, annoyed at her daughter's naiveté before Mark began to lead her away with a nudge. "Come on," Mark started for the third time in a row, "Let's go."

"Why did you do this?" Johnny asked gently, looking down at Denny with concern. "You know better, right?" he continued, his voice suddenly growing in volume. "Why?!"

"I'm sorry," Denny whined stupidly.

"You know better, Denny," Johnny repeated sadly. "You almost got killed." Johnny started to weep, bundling Denny closer and running distraught fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry," Denny apologized again, his face pressed against Johnny's chest. "It won't happen again."

"Denny, you know that Johnny's like your father," Lisa said, watching the two men cuddle. "And we're you're friends. We're going to help you."

Johnny rubbed a handful of Denny's soft brown hair between his fingers as the teenager nodded, managing to smile at Lisa. "Let's go home," Johnny said again, reaching his arm far over Denny's shoulders to put his hand on his future wife's back.

As Johnny led what he thought of as his family away, Lisa was lost in thought. She hoped that Johnny and Mark had successfully taken the drug dealer to the police, and that he'd be arrested. It would make him much easier to find.

Not that it was so difficult locating the kind of small fry who were stupid enough to bully teenagers out in the open for what was probably a pittance. No, it would take little effort for Lisa to get the man's name from Denny and then have him found. But the message she had to send – it would be so much more clear if it was sent from jail.


	9. Chapter 9

Mark threw his keys aside as he entered his apartment. He had thought for sure the apprehending of a drug dealer in the same apartment Johnny lived in would be enough to convince the San Francisco police department to start looking into Johnny's assets. Instead he had been laughed out again.

"Didn't you even test the DNA samples I gave you?" he had pleaded with his old superior, Sergeant Donahue. "Just check it against – "

"Dammit, Mark, it came up negative," Donahue had whispered, cutting him off. "And keep your voice down! I was supposed to have thrown your little zip-lock bags of 'evidence' in the trash as soon as you weren't looking. If I had've been smart, that's what I would've done."

"There's no way!" Mark insisted. "Are you sure – "

"Sure as the lab geeks can be," Donahue had interrupted again. Putting his hands on Mark's shoulders, he had adopted a look of the utmost concern. "Listen, you need to drop this, Mark. I know it was hard on you, losing your partner, but this isn't the way to go."

"I can't just let this go," Mark shook his head. "You know I can't. You know what that sick fuck did to Bailey."

"I know," Donahue had nodded. "And we're doing everything we can to find that asshole and make him pay. But there's no evidence that it was this Johnny guy that killed Bailey. And even if it was, this isn't healthy." Donahue's hands dropped, his eyes sad. "We could use your help on this, Mark, but they're not going to let you come back until you stop acting crazy. Go get some help or something, the department'll pay for it."

"Thanks for the advice," Mark had sighed, before turning and leaving, ignoring Donahue's protests to listen to him. "Sorry if I can't take it."

His bad mood had followed him out of the police station and into his car, like a storm cloud glowering above his head as he unlocked his apartment and stepped inside. He took the time to light some scented candles, hoping the smell of lavender would calm him down, before he flopped onto his bed, not even bothering to undress or get under the sheets, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the day.

The gentle light and sweet smell wafting over him, Mark managed to relax. His mind drifted as the apartment faded away, the idea of sleep settling in his body. The harsh, insistent beep of his phone, electronic and unnatural, shocked him out of his lull, shattering his calm and jangling him to total awareness. The apartment, all unsympathetic lines and angles, popped back into existence as Mark fumbled for the phone, groping blindly under the bed. Clearing his throat, he pushed the button to talk and pressed the white plastic phone into his ear.

"Hello?" he asked, still shaking the sleep from his voice.

"I miss you," Lisa's voice crept in a sultry tone, wrapping a tendril around Mark's ear.

"I just saw you," Mark replied, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I just wanted to hear your sexy voice," Lisa told him. "I keep thinking about your strong hands around my body. It excites me so much." As Lisa spoke, Mark's furrowed his brow, not sure what to make of her words. "I love you."

"Is Johnny there?" Mark wondered aloud. There was no way Lisa was that daring, he hoped, but he shuddered to think of what might happen if his best friend knew.

"He's…" Lisa hesitated a moment, "In the shower."

A surge of adrenaline went through Mark. Lisa was being less than subtle, and there was a definite danger that her future husband might overhear. Mark was now fully awake and aware. "God, I don't understand you," he started slowly, hoping to dissuade Lisa's needy tone. "Why do you do things like this?"

"Because I love you," Lisa snapped. "You just don't care, do you?"

"I do care," Mark shot back. "But… We agreed. It's over between us."

"I understand, it's our secret," Lisa said softly, soothing. "But I still have feelings for you." Now her voice was strained, almost crying. "You just don't care."

"God, I do care," Mark groaned in annoyance.

"I have to go now. I'll see you later, darling," Lisa crowed, triumphant that she'd gotten that admission from Mark.

"Don't call me that."

"Okay," Lisa whispered, cowed, "Bye."

Sighing, Mark practically threw the phone down. All the things that had been bothering him, all the things that ran through his mind despite his best efforts – he'd almost succeeded in quieting them just long enough to fall asleep. And then Lisa had to call.

Lisa – her glittering green eyes, her bright smile, her zest for life… And her future husband. The images flashing between Mark's eyes were now torn between two themes. One instant it would be Lisa's body, sprawled over the spiral staircase in her condo, somehow melted into the steps and angles as if it were the most comfortable place in the world. The next instant it would be Johnny, and the last glimpse Mark had had of his former partner, Bailey.

Bailey had been Mark's partner, but also his best friend. They'd each relied on each other, trusting enough to put their lives in the other's hands, until the day Mark had received a call to tell him Bailey was dead. Killed. Murdered. One of the leads the two detectives had been chasing had whirled back around to bite him.

The crime scene was still imprinted on the backs of Mark's eyelids, still haunted Mark's dreams. Bailey, in a dumpster, stabbed in the gut so many times pieces of him were sluicing out. The fury of the crime was unimaginable, meant to send a message.

In the end, though, the message hadn't mattered. Bailey and Mark had been the only one following that particular trail, and without Bailey's eye for detail and ability to see connections no one else could, the trail went cold. Without Bailey's faith in Mark, Mark had seemed like a lunatic, a mad dog bent on revenge and looking for the nearest target.

Gritting his teeth, Mark dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to force Bailey's end out of his mind. All he succeeded in doing was bringing back Lisa. Lisa, who brought his thoughts back to Johnny, who brought his thoughts back to Bailey.

Sleep would be impossible that night without some help. Mark got out of bed and padded into his bathroom. Without turning on the lights, going by memory, he swung open the medicine cabinet and retrieved three sleeping pills. He swallowed them dry before chasing them with a few generous swigs from the forty of whiskey sitting next to the sink.

* * *

"You're free to go," the officer growled, pulling the door to the cell open with a squeal. Chris-R looked at the cop with disbelief. The man had been glowering at the drug dealer all night – although, to be fair, his death stare had been returned by Chris-R. No one at the police station had any reason to trust or even like Chris-R. Why, then, was he being let go?

When Chris-R didn't move, the guard answered his question. "Your bail's paid."

A few minutes later, the drug dealer's possessions – minus, of course, his gun – had been restored to him and he was jogging down the steps outside the police station. The officer's explanation had only raised more questions. Chris-R definitely didn't have the money for bail, and he didn't think he knew anyone who did. The only call he'd placed had been to his mother, to tell her he wouldn't be home that night. He didn't tell her where he really was. He couldn't put her through that.

But that meant no one knew where he was. _How would anyone know to post bail?_ he wondered as he walked along the sidewalk, a streetlight above flickering out. He still didn't have the faintest idea as a car came roaring out of the darkness, screeching to a stop right next to him.

Chris-R barely had time to react before two men hopped out of the car, shoving him into the narrow alley he had been walking past. For the second time that day, Chris-R found himself held in the iron grip of two attackers, their faces hidden by balaclavas, but instead of being surrounded by clear air and empty skies, tall brick walls seemed to close in on him on either side. He kicked, his feet dragging through the trash strewn over the floor of the alley, as he was hauled behind a dumpster, out of view of the street.

A fist connected with Chris-R's gut, knocking the air out of him. As the edges of his vision became tinged with black, the distinct sound of clicking echoed down the alley. _Footsteps_, Chris-R recognized. _High heels_. Struggling to hold his head up, he saw a pair of long, graceful legs, sheathed in a tight black skirt, come from around the dumpster.

"Oh, hi, Chris-R," a sultry voice greeted him.

"Who…" he coughed, still trying to breathe. Finally lifting his head, he saw blonde hair and green eyes staring down at him with amusement before losing strength and letting his head drop. "Who are you?"

"That doesn't matter," Lisa giggled cruelly. "What matters is that you brought drugs to my home. That you almost got police interested in where I live." She reached down, her soft hand under his chin, tipping Chris-R's head up to look at her. "And I can't have that."

"Wh–" Chris-R managed before pain sliced through his stomach, so much sharper than the punch. The feeling intensified, although he didn't think that was possible, as Lisa twisted the knife. Chris-R's body shuddered as he spat up blood, his mouth opening and closing as he tried in vain to speak.

"Shh," Lisa softly soothed him as she stabbed, again and again, into Chris-R's torso, savagely ripping him apart.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a balmy day, the weather, at least, perfect. Johnny hoped, as he climbed the stairs, that the fresh air and cool breeze would calm him down and give him some perspective.

His thoughts spun wildly out of control, a haze of confusion, hurt, anger, betrayal. Only a few minutes ago, coming home from work, he had run into Claudette, leaving his and Lisa's condo. His future mother-in-law's warmth towards him was usually obvious, but today she had seemed cold and distant.

She had only stopped long enough to say, "Oh, hi, Johnny," before she practically tried to flee. Johnny, seeing her discomfort, had asked her what was wrong, slowly drawing out the problem. Claudette had eventually revealed that Lisa had told her mother about the night Johnny had come home, dejected, his promotion an empty promise. Lisa had said that he had drained the bottle of vodka without much help from her, that he had been in a drunken stupor, that he had hit his future wife. Johnny wasn't used to drinking, and it was true that his memories of that night were hazy, but he knew it wasn't true, that it was bullshit.

"I did not hit her, it's not true, it's bullshit, I did not hit her, I did not," Johnny complained, drawing out his last point as he flung his empty water bottle aside in anger. "Oh, hi, Mark."

"Oh, hey, Johnny, what's up," Mark greeted him, relaxing in one of the patio chairs in the corner of the rooftop, twirling a football in his hands. He wasn't going to ask, not directly anyways, about the grievances Johnny had been listing as he exited the stairwell. There was no way he could've avoided overhearing, but he knew better than to blithely bring it up.

"I have a problem with Lisa," Johnny explained. "She says that I hit her."

"What?" Mark asked with theatrical disbelief, exaggerating his reaction in trying to mask his lack of surprise. "Well, did you?"

"No, it's not true," Johnny repeated as he sat down next to Mark, before adding, somewhat overdue, "Don't even ask." He crossed his legs, trying to adopt a relaxed posture. "What's new with you?" he asked in an attempt to deflect the conversation.

"Well, I'm just sitting up here thinking, you know?" Mark replied, leaning back in his chair. Despite his posture, Johnny could tell from the darkness in Mark's eyes and the slight knitting of his forehead that Mark was more unsettled than he had initially seemed. "I've got a question for you."

"Yeah?" Johnny prompted.

Picking his words carefully, Mark hesitated before asking, "You think girls like to cheat like guys do?"

Johnny's eyes narrowed. "What makes you say that?" he asked slowly.

"I don't know." Mark stood, still idly playing with the ball in his hands. "I don't know. I'm just…" Pacing around the rooftop, Mark momentarily trailed off. "I'm just thinking," he finally stated.

Turning away, Johnny's eyes scanned San Francisco's skyline. "I don't need to worry about that because Lisa is loyal to me," he sniffed.

"Yeah, man, you never know," Mark blurted, instantly regretting his inadvertent hint. Trying to cover it up, he continued, somewhat meaninglessly, "People are very strange these days. I used to know a girl," he kept going, attempting to connect his comment with something logical, "She had a dozen guys. One of them found out about it, beat her up so bad she ended up in a hospital on Guerrero street."

Johnny chuckled in response. "What a story, Mark," he laughed.

Taken aback at Johnny's reaction, Mark's mind drew a blank. "Yeah, you can say that again," he finally answered, defaulting to banality.

Standing, Johnny strode over to where Mark stood, leaning against the short wall around the roof, and adopted an imitation of his pose. "I'm so happy to have you as my best friend," he said ironically, putting a hand on Mark's shoulder. "And I love Lisa so much."

"Yeah, man," Mark smiled sadly. "Yeah, you are very lucky."

Not understanding the meaning hidden behind his best friend's words, Johnny cocked his head. "Well, maybe you should have a girl, Mark," he suggested, trying to reassure him.

Uncomfortable, Mark pushed off the wall, biting his lip as he paced, putting distance between himself and Johnny. "Yeah, he agreed slowly. "Maybe you're right." He looked down at the football in his hands. "Maybe I have one already," he continued slyly. "I don't know yet."

"Well, what happened?" Johnny demanded suddenly. "Remember Betty? That's her name?"

"Betty?" Mark repeated, slowly turning around to face Johnny.

"Yeah."

Mark shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, we don't see each other anymore," he said, mulling over his past, disastrous relationship, a failed attempt at distracting himself from his pursuit of Johnny. The effort was too little, too late, especially after he'd already uprooted his life to move into the same apartment building to better keep an eye on the object of his suspicion. "You know, she wasn't any good in bed," he lied, fabricating an excuse for the abrupt end to their tryst. "She was beautiful, but we had too many arguments."

"That's too bad. My Lisa is great when I can get it," Johnny noted, apparently considering having sex two out of the last three nights unsatisfactory.

Mark groaned. "Oh man, I just can't figure women out," he commiserated, dropping back into his previously vacated patio chair. "Sometimes they're just too smart, sometimes they're just flat out stupid," he continued, feigning distrust for fifty-percent of the human race in order to further work his way into Johnny's good graces. "Other times they're just evil."

"It seems to me like you're the expert, Mark," Johnny enthused at Mark's simplistic understanding of those strange beings who don't have penises and thus will always remain a mystery. Apparently committed to aping Mark's actions, he once again sat down in the chair next to his best friend.

"No," Mark laughed at the absurd notion. "Definitely not an expert, Johnny." His smile suddenly faded.

"What's bothering you, Mark?"

Mark rose, pacing away as he toyed with the football. "Nothing, man."

"Do you have some secret?" Johnny asked as he followed. He reached out a hand for Mark's shoulder, pulling him around and bringing them face-to-face.

"Forget it."

"Why don't you tell me?"

"Why?" Mark scoffed, talking over Johnny. "Forget it, dude."

"Come on," Johnny urged, snatching the football for some reason. "Is it some secret? Talk to me, come on!"

"No, forget it," Mark told Johnny again, throwing his arm up. "I'll talk to you later," he called back as he stalked away.

Idly tossing the football, Johnny watched his best friend go before retreating to the patio chair. "Well, whatever."

As Mark descended down the stairwell, back into the apartment building, he pushed Denny, who had just been coming up, aside, roughly shoving him into the door. Denny, confused and hurt, threw his hands in the air, wondering what he had done to deserve such treatment as the door slammed shut behind him. Shrugging it off, he said, "Hey, Johnny," as he trotted over to the patio chairs.

"Oh, hi, Denny," Johnny gave his customary greeting, still tossing the football, watching it spin and twirl through the air.

"What's wrong with Mark?"

"He's cranky today," Johnny chuckled. "Girl trouble, I guess. What's new with you?"

Denny shrugged noncommittally. "Not much. Still going to the movie tonight?"

"Oh, sure we are," Johnny nodded, dangling the football above his head.

"What kind of movie are we going to see?"

"Well, we'll see…" Lost in thought, Johnny trailed off. "Denny, don't plan too much," he finally chided. "It might not come out right."

"Alright," Denny accepted the bizarre answer. "Let's toss the ball around."

"Okay," Johnny agreed, standing and lobbing the ball to where Denny stood, next to the edge of the building.

Deftly catching the football, Denny examined the ball, studying the stitching and seemingly trying to memorize every dimple of the faux leather. "I've got to tell you about something," he started before tossing the ball back to Johnny.

"Shoot, Denny." The ball landed in Johnny's fingers with a thunk. The football flew back across the space between them.

"It's about Lisa."

"Go on," Johnny prompted.

"She's beautiful." Denny's fingers traced the stitching on the football, his eyes locked on Johnny's. "She looks great in her red dress. I think I'm in love with her."

"Go on," Johnny prompted again, as if more information would improve the situation.

"I know she doesn't like me because sometimes she's mean to me," Denny went on, "But sometimes when I'm around her, I feel like I want to kiss her and tell her that I love her. I don't know," he sighed. "I'm just confused."

"Denny," Johnny tut-tutted, "Don't worry about that. Lisa loves you, too. As a person, as a human being. As a friend," he babbled. "You know, people don't have to say it. They can feel it."

"What do you mean?" Denny asked, perhaps confused by Johnny's nearly impenetrable accent.

"You can love someone deep inside your heart and there is nothing wrong with it," Johnny explained. "If a lot of people love each other, the world would be a better place to live."

"Lisa's your future wife," Denny pointed out randomly.

"Denny, don't worry about it," Johnny said again. "You are a part of our family. We love you very much. We will help you any time. And Lisa loves you, too," he reiterated. "As a friend. You are sort of like her son."

"You mean, you're not upset with me?" Denny asked in surprise, completely ignoring the fact that he was only about five years younger than Lisa.

"No, Johnny told him as they both stood, "Because I trust you and I trust Lisa. What about Elizabeth, huh?"

Denny grinned at the mention of the girl he had met a few weeks ago, when he ran into her in the halls of the apartment building. Coincidentally, Denny had been on his way home while Elizabeth had been heading out, saying she had only been there to visit a friend. "Well," he blushed, playing with the football as he paced, "I love her."

"Mmhmm," Johnny replied sagely.

"When I graduate from college, get a good job," Denny described, "I want to marry her and have kids with her."

"That's the idea," Johnny approved.

"You're right," Denny laughed. "Thanks for paying my tuition."

"You're very welcome, Denny, and keep in mind," Johnny wrapped his arm around Denny's shoulder as he channeled a used-car salesman, "If you have any problems, talk to me and I will help you."

"Awesome. Thanks, Johnny."

"Let's go eat, huh?" Johnny ushered the eighteen-year-old towards the door to the stairwell. "Come on, let's go." As he playfully jostled the younger man, they began their descent into the apartment building.


	11. Chapter 11

"So how's Johnny?" Michelle asked, stretched out on the sofa of Johnny and Lisa's living room. A huge, overfull glass of merlot was cradled in her hand, her legs bared by the long slit in her skirt.

Lisa's legs sat parallel to the couch, extended along the hardwood floor. Considering the ruby liquid swirling in her own glass, sitting on the coffee table and brimming with wine, Lisa shook her head, disillusioned. "He didn't get his promotion," she told her friend.

Michelle raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Is he disappointed?" she winced.

"Quite a bit," Lisa stated flatly before taking a sip of the wine clutched in her hand. "He got drunk last night." Tilting her head in surprise, Michelle took a long, deep drink, but failed to react beyond that. "And he hit me," Lisa added in her usual embellishment.

"He hit you?" Michelle nearly shouted in shock and outrage.

Trying to dial it back a little, Lisa shrugged. "He didn't know what he was doing," she sniffed, taking another sip of merlot.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned, scanning Lisa for any sign of injury.

"Well, I don't want to marry him anymore," Lisa told her, in a statement that would be totally reasonable in an actual domestic abuse situation.

"What?" Michelle demanded, apparently dismayed that her friend was considering breaking up with someone who she claimed was abusive.

"Johnny's…" Lisa searched for the best wording as she set her glass aside. "Okay," she finished, choosing possibly the worst descriptor for, again, someone she was claiming is a future wife-beater, before smirking. "But I found somebody else."

A small laugh of disbelief escaped Michelle. "Lisa, this isn't right," she chided her friend in the exact wrong emotional response. "You're living with one guy and sleeping with another guy?"

"I'm doing what I want to do," Lisa replied, a tendon in her neck jutting out with her annoyance.

"Well, who is he?" Michelle asked conspiratorially.

A warm smile spread across Lisa's face. "His best friend," she said slowly. "And he lives in this building."

Her eyes wide, Michelle let out another laugh, apparently forgetting her concern for the feelings of Lisa's future husband. Women, am I right? "I can't believe you're telling me this," she gasped, putting the extremely obvious clues together. "It's Mark, isn't it?"

Still smugly smirking, her fingers curled around the wine glass, Lisa nodded.

"Lisa… You know you're just thinking about yourself," Michelle chided her friend again, her eyes flicking to Lisa's glass of wine on the coffee table. "Somebody's going to get hurt," she warned her as Lisa took a deep sip from the glass in her hand. "You've got to be honest with Johnny."

"I can't do that," Lisa told Michelle, the tendon in her neck tightening with rage at her friend's judgement. "He would be devastated," she continued, as if she'd ever given any indication that she cared about her future husband's feelings.

"Well if you care so much for him, why cheat on him?" Michelle asked, finally making a good point.

"Look, I really don't know what to do." Lisa's shoulders slumped, her face sank. "I love Mark. I don't have any more feelings for Johnny."

"Johnny is so excited about this wedding," Michelle sighed, giving the last reason you should stay with someone. Seriously, she's either suggesting putting off an inevitable break-up until after a marriage, at which point the legal and financial issues will be added to the emotional ones, or just sucking it up and being unhappy forever. And all to avoid the awkwardness of cancelling a wedding? What is wrong with her?

"I know," Lisa sighed, resigned.

"You've got to tell Johnny," Michelle repeated.

Her jaw tightening, Lisa glared at her friend. "No guilt trips," she told her sternly.

"You don't feel guilty about this at all?" Michelle guffawed, surprised.

"No," Lisa shook her head. "I'm happy."

A smile, frozen, was still plastered to Michelle's face. She shook her head in disbelief. "Something awful is going to happen," she cautioned.

Her green eyes wide, Lisa beseeched her friend, "Please don't tell anybody."

Outside, Johnny picked up the newspaper sitting on the stairs into his and his future wife's condo. He scanned the headlines, flipping the paper over to see if anything caught his eye before he tucked it under his arm and strode up to the door, home after a long day at work.

"Don't worry," Michelle reassured Lisa. "You can trust me. Your secret is safe with me."

Just then, the sound of the front door opening interrupted their conversation. As Lisa and Michelle clinked their glasses together in a toast, sealing their conspiracy, Johnny stepped inside. "Hello, Michelle," he greeted his future wife's friend. "I heard you. What secret?" he pried, falling into the seat next to the couch.

Nervously, Michelle laughed in response, but Lisa's face hardened. "It's between us women," she spat.

"Hi, Johnny," Michelle returned his greeting uneasily.

Noticing her skirt and denim jacket, Johnny asked, "Is that a new dress?"

"Um," Michelle stammered, unsettled by Johnny's piercing gaze and keen eye for detail. "Well, I guess I better get going," she excused herself abruptly, sitting up. "I'll just talk to you guys later?" She stood, picking her way around the coffee table and Johnny's legs, sprawled across the seating area. "Excuse me." Quickly making her way to the door, she cast one last look over her shoulder. "Lisa," she called back, "Remember what I told you."

Taking the just-vacated spot on the sofa, Lisa shot Michelle a look of reproach, but nodded as she rearranged the cushions. Michelle gave a little wave and mouthed the word _Bye_ before slipping outside, closing the door behind her.

Curious, Johnny's brow furrowed. "What's she talking about?" he wondered.

Lisa snatched up her glass of merlot and settled into the couch. "It's girl talk," she snarled, "I just told you that." Tense, she took a long gulp of the wine.

Johnny sighed before rising out of the chair. "I never hit you," he accused. "You shouldn't have any secrets from me." Shrugging out of his jacket, Johnny cast it aside, throwing it onto the couch. "I'm your future husband," he reminded Lisa as he sank back into the chair.

"Are you sure about that?" Lisa taunted. "Maybe I'll change my mind."

Tossing his long, black hair, Johnny shook his head. "Don't talk like that. What do you mean?"

"What do you think? Women change their minds all the time." My God, even the women in this story think all women are cardboard cut-outs.

Johnny chuckled in response. "You must be kidding, aren't you?"

"Look, I don't want to talk about it." Lisa stood, the later afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows perfectly illuminating the deep red of her halter top. "I'm going to go upstairs, and wash up, and go to bed."

"How dare to talk to me like that!" Johnny thundered, rising to block her way. Thrusting his palms into Lisa's chest, he shoved her back onto the couch, making his protests about Lisa's accusations completely moot. He stood over his future wife. "You should tell me everything."

Her eyes dark, Lisa glowered up at the man, twice her age. "I can't talk right now."

"Why, Lisa, why, Lisa," Johnny repeated in broken sobs, sinking onto the sofa next to her. "Please talk to me, please!" Unable to stand his entreating, Lisa turned her face away. "You're part of my life, you're everything to me," Johnny continued, "I could not go on without you, Lisa."

Lisa shook her head. "You're scaring me," she told him, trying to stand up, to get away. Johnny once again matched her movements, blocking her in, keeping her from fleeing.

"You're lying, I never hit you," he moaned, although he had, just moments ago, shoved her, and he was, just now, ignoring boundaries that Lisa was very explicit about. Johnny thrust his fists into the air. Words exploded out of him. "You are tearing me apart, Lisa!"

"Why are you so hysterical?" Lisa shot back.

"Do you understand life?" Johnny yelled, roughly shoving his future wife back onto the sofa again. Thrown back into the position she'd just been trying to leave, Lisa sulked, petulant. "Do you?" he demanded.

Her lower lip stuck out in a pout, Lisa attempted to leave again, standing and edging her way around Johnny. This time he allowed her to pass. She made her way to the spiral staircase before turning. "Don't worry about it," she told her future husband, somewhat cryptically. "Everything will be alright."

His head lolling on the back of the couch, Johnny watched her reproachfully. "You drive me crazy."

"Good night, Johnny," Lisa called back as she climbed the stairs.

"Don't worry about it," Johnny repeated her odd assertion. "I still love you. Good night, Lisa." His eyes followed her long legs, wrapped in tight denim, as she disappeared into their bedroom.

* * *

Another customer left, leaving only two more milling around in the bank. One of the tellers hit a light switch, dimming the building and letting everyone know it was almost closing time. Through a pair of binoculars, Claudette watched as a woman in a tailored jacket passed a check across the counter. The man taking the slip of paper smiled and mouthed a quick _thank you_ before he turned and began to walk out of the bank.

"Only one left," Claudette told Edward.

There was a sharp click in response. "We're ready to go anytime," Edward said, slinging the assault rifle across his knee. He tossed a floppy piece of material at his ex wife. "Here."

Claudette snatched it out of midair, unfolding the latex to see the exaggerated features of an elderly woman, the face of the mask pulled to unnatural angles that were less like wrinkles than they were like melted candle wax. "Funny," Claudette stated flatly.

"Aw, come on," Edward smirked. "I'm just keeping it casual."

Ahead of them, there was the chug of the old van starting up. As they began to move, Claudette pulled the mask over her head. She regarded her ex husband through the narrow slits in her disguise, reminding herself why he had gotten herself into this.

She needed the money. That was both the long and short of it. There was nothing else that could be said. Cancer was rotting its way through her body, and she might not survive. She couldn't leave her daughter – foolishly gambling a solid future with Johnny – with nothing. She needed the money.

To an outsider, Edward might have seemed like the worst person to go to. Claudette's ex husband had no lingering feelings for her, no reason to help. None, except that he knew her inside and out, the same way she knew him. There might not have been love between them, but when you'd lived with someone, shared everything with them for nearly ten years, there was a certain grudging trust. Not the same as faith, but a trust that you knew exactly what they'd do in any situation. Claudette hadn't been in the same room as the man in two years, long enough for his salt-and-pepper hair to go completely white, but she knew he would help her.

The van bounced as it lumbered down the hill. Claudette braced herself with each jolt, terrified of the gun in her ex husband's hands. Her horror increased when he suddenly swung the rifle towards her. For a moment she thought she'd misjudged the entire situation, that he was aiming at her, until Edward gave the gun a little shake and she realised he was pointing the butt of the rifle at her, holding it out for her to take. As the van shuddered to a halt, she reached out, tentatively, and grabbed the gun, cradling it in her hands like a baby. Edward picked up another gun that had been sitting on the stainless steel floor of the van, checking it and making sure it was loaded.

"Ready for this?" he asked, seeming more concerned with the weapon than with Claudette's state of mind.

Claudette could only nod, her throat feeling like it was closing up.

Focusing on her, Edward pulled on his mask, a latex caricature of an old geezer to match Claudette's old lady. "Don't worry about it," he told her. "You know what they say: they're more scared of you than you are of them."

"Last customer's heading out," came the voice of the driver. "And they're clear. We got a teller moving for the door to lock up."

"Well," Edward said as he stood, "It's now or never. Are we doing this?"

"We're doing this," Claudette replied, trying to harden her voice and silence the tremor in it as she rose to her feet.

"Then just follow my lead," Edward told her.

Exploding into movement, he burst out the back door of the black van, his footsteps pounding on the pavement. Claudette followed, trying to touch the rifle in her hands with only the tips of her fingertips as she raced after her ex husband. Just as a teller inside was reaching the door, her fingers on the deadbolt, ready to turn it, Edward slammed into the door. The teller was pinned by the glass for a moment, dazed at the sudden impact. Following, Claudette slipped through the open door.

"Lock it!" Edward called back at her, and she did, pushing the door shut and then turning the deadbolt before turning her gun on the teller, still standing bewildered next to the door.

Too terrified to speak, Claudette motioned with the barrel of the weapon for the teller to get away from the glass. The woman, shaking, managed to stumble towards the center of the bank, where Edward was rounding up the rest of the workers.

"Do what I say and you'll be home in time for dinner," Edward called in a voice muffled by rubber. "But if anyone fucks around, you're leaving this bank in a body bag."


	12. Chapter 12

The blinking red and blue lights of the cruisers outside the alley seemed strange so close to the police station. In the dim, pre-dawn light, they lit the street, creating long, ominous shadows across the ornate exteriors of the buildings lining the block. Police tape roped off the alley, and the occasional flash of a camera blazed like a localised lightning storm.

The area was swarming with cops. Mark had parked around the corner, respectfully, not wanting to get in their way, although he was currently jogging towards the crime scene. As he approached, he saw Sergeant Donahue giving brisk orders to a uniformed officer, who nodded before heading towards one of the cruisers.

"Sarge," Mark called as he neared the scene.

Donahue's head snapped to face Mark, his eyes narrowing. The huge man matched Mark's pace, thundering towards him before grabbing him by the arm and pulling him further from the scene, sweeping the smaller man up in his wake. "What the fuck you doing here, Mark?" he demanded, his voice a low, angry growl. "You listening to your police scanner again?"

"I heard," Mark gulped, "I heard this was like – "

"Like Bailey?" Donahue finished for him. His hands on his hips, Mark's former superior stepped away, shaking his head. "Yeah, fine, it's just like Bailey. What's your point?"

Taken aback, Mark's forehead knitted. "Doesn't this mean you're finally going to look into Johnny? I'm already on the inside, man, I can get so much – "

"No!" Donahue cut Mark off, bellowing loud enough that some of the uniforms nearby stopped and stared. Waving them off, he lowered his voice. "Drop," he started slowly, "Your obsession with Johnny. It's getting you nowhere, and if you keep it up, I'm going to have you arrested for stalking."

"But – "

"This murder doesn't link Johnny to Bailey, it links whoever killed this poor bastard to whoever killed Bailey, got it?" Donahue told Mark. "Now hopefully this is gonna give us some new leads, so what I suggest you do is get your shit sorted out and come help us on this."

"I can help you now," Mark protested. "Just let me take a look at the scene, man. I might be able to see something you missed."

"You know I can't let you do that, Mark," Donahue scolded. "'Sides, we're almost done here. Just cleaning up now."

As if on cue, two paramedics carrying a stretcher between them came out of the alley. On the stretcher laid a long black body bag, zipped up almost to the top. Those few unzipped inches that had been neglected, gaping open, suddenly split, expanding as the stretcher jolted over a curb. An arm, blood-stained and mottled after festering for over twenty-four hours in San Francisco's summer heat, fell through the hole, dragging the zipper down further with its weight, until a livid, angry face peered out of the body bag.

The paramedics steadied the stretcher and rushed to put the limb back in and reseal the bag, but Mark had already seen, and was pacing around Donahue. His jaw was slack and his movements slow as if he was in a dream.

"Mark," Donahue called after him in warning. "Mark, I told you to back off."

Mark barely heard. "I know that guy," he whispered to himself.

"What?" Donahue demanded.

"I know that guy," Mark said clearly, firmly, loud enough to hear.

"Oh, yeah?" Donahue raised an eyebrow. "Please don't tell me this all connects back to this Johnny guy."

"It does." Mark turned to face the Sergeant. "That's the drug dealer that was at Johnny's apartment building the day before yesterday. He was threatening this kid who's like a son to Johnny. Me and Johnny disarmed him and handed him over to you guys."

Donahue gaped. "Alright," he conceded. "You win. Johnny's officially got my interest."

* * *

A black tank top exposing his thick, muscular arms, Johnny strode through the alley outside the apartment building. "Hey, Johnny," a voice called after him. "What's going on, man?"

Johnny whirled around, spotting the speaker. "Oh, hi, Mike," he reached out, and they clasped hands for a moment. "What's new?"

"Actually, Johnny," Mike started, pacing over to the twin garbage cans shining at the side of the alley, "I got a little bit of a tragedy on my hands, yeah." He paused, putting his hands on his hips as he tried to organize his story in his mind. "Me and Michelle," he stammered, "We were… We were making out, uh," he blushed, "At your place."

Johnny chuckled in response.

"And, uh, Lisa and Claudette sort of, uh, walked in on us. But that's not the end of the story."

"Go on," Johnny prompted. "I'm listening."

"Okay," Mike steadied himself. "We're going at it. And, um, I get out of there as fast as possible, you know? I get my pants, I get my shirt, and I get out of there," he recounted. "And then about halfway down the stairs, I realize that I have misplaced, I have forgotten something."

"Mmhmm."

"My underwear," Mike finally admitted, which might have been a surprise if we hadn't already seen the scene Mike was describing.

Johnny chuckled in response.

"So I come back to get it," Mike continued, "You know, and I pretend that I need a book, you know, I'm like, looking for my book." He performed a poor imitation of someone who was looking for their book. "And I reach in, I put the underwear in my pocket and slide out real quick."

"Uh huh."

"Well, Claudette, she saw it sticking out of my pocket," Mike uttered, dejected. "She pulls it out," he mimed holding up a pair of boxers by the waistband, "And she's showing everybody," by _everybody_, apparently meaning Lisa, "Uh, me underwears."

"You must be kidding, underwear," Johnny laughed at the absurd image. "I got the picture."

"Yeah," Mike mumbled, shrugging. "I don't know what to…"

Johnny put a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. "That's life," he told him.

Throwing his hand up, Mike mumbled and shrugged again. His muttering was cut off by a voice from down the alley calling out, "Hey, Johnny." Denny jogged up, holding a football. "Hey, Mike."

"Hey, Denny," Johnny greeted him.

"'Sup, buddy," Mike asked.

Holding up the ball, Denny grinned. "You guys want to play some football?"

"I gotta see Michelle in a little bit," Mike decline, "To make out with her."

"Aw, come on," Denny groaned.

Joining his chorus, Johnny also urged, "Come on!"

Overcome by their argument, Mike shook his head. "Alright, whatever," he agreed, accepting the football that Denny was pressing into his hand.

"I'm going out," Denny explained as he went long, jogging further up the alley and holding his hands up to solicit a pass. Sending the ball flying in a gentle arc, Mike tossed the football to Denny. Throwing the ball around the triangle formed by the three men, Denny, Johnny and Mike joked and laughed as they played.

"Sorry you had to see that," Mike told Denny, apparently talking about an alternate version of the underwear story that involved more characters. Or maybe it happened again, on a completely different occasion?

"I'm not sorry," Denny replied mischievously, catching the ball easily.

Johnny chuckled in response.

"You enjoyed it," Mike teased. "Almost as much as I did." Flying across the few feet between them, the football was tossed around the small group.

"Studying, right?" Denny teased back, before adding sadly, "I don't study like that."

Catching the ball, Johnny confirmed, "He doesn't."

Denny let out a loud, abrupt guffaw before looking towards the entrance of the alley. He spotted Mark coming toward them and broke into a wide grin.

"He, Denny, what's up?" Mark greeted him.

"Oh, hi, Mark," Johnny said.

Mike passed the ball to Mark as he entered the circle. "What's up?" he asked.

"Not too much, what about you guys?" Mark replied, twirling the ball expertly between his fingers. Smoothly, he threw the ball, overhand, to Denny.

"He's just telling us about an underwear issue he has," Denny answered.

"Dude, don't," Mike stuttered, desperately trying to shush Denny.

"Underwear?" Mark repeated, catching the ball again. "What's that?" he said, presumably wondering about the underwear issue and not what underwear were.

"It's embarrassing man," Mike tried to shrink, "I don't want to get into it."

"Underwear, man?" Mark asked again, giving Mike's shoulder a playful shove.

Regretting bringing up his humiliating story and willing to do anything to deflect the questions and get everyone to drop the topic, Mike saw his opportunity and took it. At Mark's gentle tap, he threw himself to the ground, stumbling wildly into the garbage cans and knocking them down as he flailed clumsily. Sprawled on the ground, Mike groaned in pain. Their game of football – and their jibes at Mike's expense – completely forgotten, the others crowded around, their faces full of concern as they asked if Mike was okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Mike replied, but he let his voice come out in a shrill whine, playing up his distress. Strong arms reached down and wrapped around his elbows and shoulders, lifting him up off the pavement.

"Do you want to see a doctor?" Johnny asked.

"No, no, no," Mike declined in a staccato string of negatives. "I need to…" He trailed off as Mark slung Mike's arm over his shoulder, easily taking his weight. "I'm good. I'm alright. I'm fine."

"I'll take him home," Mark offered.

Johnny nodded. "Why don't you take him home," he agreed. "And, listen, Mike, if you need anything," he called after the pair, slowly limping down the alley, "Call me. Any time at all. Alright?" As Mike and Mark disappeared, he added, "See you guys."

"See you guys," Denny echoed, standing next to Johnny, shocked at how suddenly their merriment had turned to tragedy. As he reached down to retrieve the football, Johnny shook his head.

"Let's go home, Denny," Johnny suggested, patting the eighteen-year-old on the shoulder.


	13. Chapter 13

"You look really tired today, mom," Lisa told her mother as they entered Johnny and Lisa's condo. "Are you feeling okay?"

Forcing a smile, Claudette turned back to look at her daughter. Clad in a tasteful blue t-shirt and a black pencil skirt, her blonde hair curled and bouncy, she seemed lighter, happier. Claudette couldn't destroy her daughter's mood with the truth. For now, she would have to protect her from what was really going on. "I didn't get much sleep last night," Claudette shrugged. Technically it was true, but the reason for her sleeplessness could afford to go unmentioned.

"Why not?" Lisa asked, concerned. "What's wrong?"

Claudette barely even hesitated. It wasn't as if she didn't have dozens of examples of drama she could instantly call upon. "You remember my friend, Shirley Hamilton?"

"Uh huh," Lisa nodded.

"She wants to buy a new house," Claudette continued, rattling off the tale, "And so I asked Johnny if he could help her with the down payment. All he can tell me is it's an awkward situation." As she said the word awkward, Claudette brought her fingers up in an indication of quotation marks, mocking Johnny's reticence to possibly go in debt in order to help someone he probably barely knows make a massive, life-changing purchase. Claudette wagged her finger at her daughter. "I expected your husband to be a little more generous," she chided.

"He's not," Lisa hissed, "My husband."

"I know," Claudette conceded, starting to pace towards the sofa. "But Johnny is part of our family."

"Mom," Lisa stopped her mother, holding her shoulder as she directed her to look her in the eyes. "I don't love Johnny anymore," she said firmly. At her mother's scoff, she continued, "I don't even like him. I had sex with someone else."

"You can't be serious," Claudette shook her head.

"You don't understand," Lisa groaned.

"Who?" Claudette clucked. "Who is it?"

Hesitant, Lisa fidgeted, shifted her weight and smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt. "I don't want to talk about it," she finally replied.

"You don't want to talk about it," Claudette repeated, rolling her eyes. "Then why bring it up in the first place?"

"I don't know," Lisa sulked.

"You don't know," Claudette repeated her daughter's words again before pointing an accusing finger at Lisa. "If you think I'm tired today, wait till you see me tomorrow."

Wanting to drop the topic, Lisa asked, "Are you coming to the party?"

"Sure," Claudette waved her hand dismissively. "I suppose so." Still annoyed, her head held high, haughty, she turned and walked away, leading her daughter back out of the apartment.

The door closed, and silence settled over the condo. The small living space was dark and still. Shrouded on the spiral staircase, perched between the living room and the bedroom, Johnny hid, heartbroken. He had heard his future wife and her mother enter and had crept a few steps down, listening in. Prying hadn't been his goal – he was only overexcited about his birthday, and knew there was some sort of surprise in the works. The fact that he knew Lisa and Michelle had been confiding about some secret, something that Lisa guarded venomously, had not played into his decision to eavesdrop at all, he had told himself as he waited and watched.

"How can they say this about me?" he wondered aloud. "I don't believe it. I show them." Johnny's eyes narrowed with resolve. "I will record everything."

He rose from his roost and descended the stairs into the living room, cold purpose running through his veins. Clutching an answering machine in his hands, his eyes never left the wireless phone sitting in its cradle on the table next to the framed portraits of spoons. Johnny yanked the wires out from the back of the phone, finding the connectors, before he carefully inserted them into the answering machine as if he was wiring the device up normally.

Pursing his lips, he made a few adjustments, rigging the machine to record any time the phone was used. He retraced his jury-rigged wiring again, making sure everything was in place, before he grabbed the empty cassette tape he'd been carrying in his pocket, arming the answering machine. He pressed a few buttons, readying the device, before slipping his set-up under the table, hiding it in the voluminous table cloth that draped down to the floor.

Smoothing out the table cloth and adjusting the picture frames, Johnny made sure everything was as it had been before he bugged the phone. Finally, satisfied with his work, he pushed a long tendril of hair out of his eyes and stood with a grim smile, slowly retreating up the stairs, putting as much distance between himself and his handiwork as he could.

* * *

There was a creak and a soft padding sound. _The door opening and footsteps_, Michelle recognised. Blinded by the silk tied over her eyes, she strained to hear, trying to pinpoint how close to her Mike's bare feet were.

Another creak heralded the sound of a window opening to Michelle's right. A few seconds later, the one on the left opened. It was a quiet night, only the sound of a few crickets chirping, but it was cool, and Michelle's skin was soon dimpled with goosebumps. She shivered, rattling the handcuffs that held her arms up above her head, fastening her to the wall. Where the baseboards met the floor, her feet were similarly shackled, holding her so taut she could barely fidget.

"Remember," Mike said from somewhere in front of her, "The safe word is football."

Through her blindfold, Michelle tried to throw her boyfriend a look of disbelief. "I think I'll be okay," she told him. "Don't worry about it."

There were more padding footsteps and then the room went silent, except for the fauna outside. The wind outside picked up, bringing a gust of cold air into the room, caressing her skin with icy fingers.

A few minutes later, footsteps were approaching her again, this time accompanied by the sound of metal scraping on metal. The scraping sped up as it got close, and Mike paced around her, deciding where to start, drawing out the anticipation.

_That was the worst part_, Michelle thought, tensing, although a moment later she debated about whether it was really the best. She had no idea when – or where – Mike would start, no way to brace herself.

Another breeze whirled through the room, chilling her skin. As she shivered from the cold, she suddenly felt liquid heat drop onto her shoulder and then slowly sluice down her chest, over her breast in a thick, warm rivulet, and another, very different shiver went through her. The sweet smell of chocolate tickled her nose.

As the dark, molten chocolate made its way onto Michelle's stomach, another, wetter heat appeared just below, moving up as Mike dragged his tongue across her belly, eating the chocolate off her skin. In soft little licks, he tasted the path of melted candy, rising up to where it had flowed over her breast.  
Michelle had only been warm where the chocolate had touched her, in a thin line of sweetness, but now heat surged through her breast as Mike took her nipple in his mouth, sucking the chocolate away. A little moan of pleasure escaped her lips as Mike kept going, getting every drop.

Then it stopped. Mike's mouth moved away, leaving Michelle standing cold and blind against the wall. Now, though, heat surged between her legs, and her hips almost instinctively swayed, searching for her partner. Michelle bit her lip, eager to continue, almost about to beg for more. Each second seemed to drag by.

Finally, she felt the hard metal of the ladle against her neck as Mike let a waterfall of chocolate drizzle down her body from just below her chin. The chocolate slowly oozed down, splitting into separate paths that etched their way to the floor. Even without Mike's ministrations, the sensation of the wave of heat moving over her, caressing her, covering her, warming some places and leaving others exposed to the cold, was enough to get her moaning in pleasure again.

Mike's mouth suddenly appeared again, hot and wet, this time on her shoulder. It was wide open, lapping at Michelle's candy coating as his hand slid through the thick, sticky chocolate covering her hips, moving to her ass, where he grabbed a handful of her skin, his fingertips digging in as he pulled her towards him. Still sucking the chocolate off her, Mike's mouth moved higher, up to her neck, taking mouthfuls of the sweetness. Taking a deep breath of the aroma, he nipped at the sensitive skin, and Michelle sighed, pressing into him as hard as the handcuffs allowed.


	14. Chapter 14

The sunlight filtering through the curtains painted the room in deep crimsons and blacks, a strange menagerie of shadows flickering across the few pools of light. Johnny strode in from the kitchen, his hand wrapped around a plastic bottle of water. He leaned over and poured the pure liquid into the two glasses, sitting side by side on the coffee table under a pair of watchful, bespectacled eyes.

"I don't understand women," Johnny bemoaned as he sat down on the sofa. "Do you, Peter?"

Relaxing on the chair opposite Johnny, Peter's dark suit was completely at home in the shades of Johnny and Lisa's condo. He tilted his head, adopting the concerned posture that put so many of his patients at ease. "What man does?" he laughed, an admission that any self-respecting psychologist would find deeply embarrassing. Luckily for Peter, this did not raise Johnny's suspicions. "What's the problem?"

"They never say what they mean," Johnny declared, screwing the cap back on the bottle. "And they always play games." He put the plastic bottle down on the floor with a thunk.

"Okay," Peter absorbed Johnny's words, analyzing them for any hidden meaning. "Um… What do you mean?"

Passing one of the filled glasses to Peter, Johnny sat back on the couch, trying to relax and feeling uncomfortably like one of Peter's appointments. "I have a serious problem with Lisa," he divulged. "I don't think she's faithful to me. In fact, I know she isn't."

Peter's brow furrowed over the perfectly round lenses of his glasses. "Lisa?" he clarified. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Johnny confirmed. "I overheard a conversation between Lisa and her mother." He looked down, studying the glass of water in his hands, seemingly entrance in the way it caught the dim light bleeding through the curtains. "What should I do, Peter?"

Blinking in surprise and confusion, Peter's mind performed a quick search of its contents, comparing what Johnny had just told him to every experience he'd had with Lisa. "This is Lisa we're talking about?" he asked again, uncertain.

"Yeah."

Peter shook his head. "I don't know what to say."

"But you're a psychologist," Johnny protested. "Do you have some advice?"

Rising to his feet, Peter paced the room, eventually ending up near the fireplace, one arm propped up on the mantle. "It's a complicated situation, Johnny. I mean," he shook his head again, "You're my friend, and I don't want to get between you and Lisa."

It was the most polite way of declining Peter could think of, and also his standard response. Since he'd become a psychologist, he'd found that people seemed to think that meant he was available to help them with their problems as a favour. He did have the expertise, and he would like to help his friends, but it was far too unprofessional. It was fine for mechanics or plumbers to fix some inanimate objects for friends and family, but delving into someone's mind was different. It required emotional distance, an outsider's perspective.

As an alien, Peter had the ultimate outsider's perspective. He regarded his friends – not to mention his patients – less as people than as research subjects, objects of curiosity. That was all they were supposed to be to him, although lately he found himself growing fond of the strange creatures, a sensation that worried him. If he couldn't maintain his distance, it might affect his ability to gather data. Even now, his superiors floating in orbit could be reading his last report, seeing the signs and preparing to call him back, ending his mission.

Getting involved in Johnny's problems represented a double threat. His cold demeanor and detachment from his supposed fellow humans was fine, even expected when it was towards his patients. But towards his friends, it would not go unnoticed. He could fake mild concern and friendliness in a casual conversation, but a more serious problem required a more serious response, one that Peter didn't trust himself to feign.

On the other hand, there was the risk that opening himself up to Johnny and Lisa's issues would have the opposite effect, that he would truly start to care about the trials and tribulations of the lives of the primitive species. That was the absolute last thing he wanted to happen. He had spent the majority of his life controlling the hologram known as Peter. Both he and his superiors had invested so much time, and now he was in the perfect position to just sit back and observe. He couldn't let something so important slip away just for the insignificant problems of a handful of the little creatures teeming all over the face of the planet.

"Look," Peter finally said, deciding to give the most generic advice he possibly could, "If you want to, you should just confront her."

"I can't confront her," Johnny groaned. "I want to give her a second chance. After all, she's my future wife."

Coming from a polysexual species that reproduced through psychic connections requiring a minimum of a dozen individuals – two females, three males, and a spectrum of the sexes that fell in between – Peter had no real conception of the betrayal Johnny was feeling, nor of his continued devotion to his future wife despite her deceit.

"You know what they say," Johnny continued with a slight smile. "Love is blind."

"Well, you've got a lot of faith in Lisa," Peter said. He'd found, over the years, that as long as you echoed back the exact thoughts a particular human was having, the self-obsessed creatures would assume you were a genius. He shrugged. "Sometimes, life gets complicated and the unexpected can happen," he added uselessly. "When it does, we've just got to deal with it."

The doorbell rang.

"Did you hear the door?" Peter asked, calibrating his sonic sensors.

Johnny swallowed a huge gulp of water. "Yeah, I heard," he replied gruffly. He stood and picked his way around the small living room, cluttered, nearly filled by the coffee table and the plush seating. "Oh, hi, Mark," he greeted as he opened the door. "Come in."

"Oh, hey, Johnny," Mark smiled as he stepped inside. Noticing the supposed psychologist standing in the corner, he added, "Hey, Peter."

"We're just talking about women," Johnny explained as he headed back to his seat on the sofa.

Knowing the reason for Johnny's problems, Mark pursed his lips, not wanting to say anything, or at least not anything incriminating. In his denim jacket and jeans, he felt as if he'd already been convicted of his crimes against his best friend. "Women, man," he observed. "Women just confuse me." He took a seat opposite Johnny.

Watching carefully, Peter's brow furrowed again. This stated lack of familiarity and mystification with female humans was a common pronouncement among the males of the species, and Peter had echoed it many times in order to fit in, but he still couldn't comprehend the reason for the confusion. Although he could hardly insert himself into what the female humans referred to as 'Girl Talk', he had managed to analyse some of these conversations through the use of microscopic recorders, drones, and other listening devices, and he knew that the women vacillated between describing the same unbridgeable gap separating their species and claiming a complete understanding of males.

The purported confusion baffled Peter. The similarities between the two sects of humanity far outweighed the differences, especially compared to his own species. Far above, in orbit, he knew there were both the many-tentacled females and the round, globular males. He himself fell somewhere in between, although he wasn't currently conscious of the hundreds of stubby, finger-like tendrils he was using to manipulate the Peter hologram.

But despite the physical differences, all of Peter's species were able to work together, never doubting that their thoughts, goals and hopes were much the same. _Possibly a side effect of being able to establish psychic links_, Peter reflected.

"I have a girl," Mark started, derailing Peter's chain of thought. "She's married," he continued, testing the limits of what he could say before Johnny became suspicious. "I mean, she's very attractive, but just…" He laughed as he trailed off. "It's driving me crazy."

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Peter asked, intrigued that both Johnny and Mark were experiencing the same situation from opposite sides, wondering how they would react if provoked. "I mean, is it anyone I know?"

"No, man, you don't know her," Mark shook his head.

"Can I meet her?" Johnny wondered.

"I don't think so. It's an awkward situation."

"You mean she's too old?" Johnny teased. "Or you think I would take her away from you?"

In a split second, Peter analysed Johnny's words, trying to determine if it was a threat or a joke. He opted for joke, and laughed.

"Nah," Mark laughed along with him.

Immediately dour, Johnny took another sip of water. "I have my own problems."

"Tell me about your problems Johnny," Peter said. Now that Mark was in the room, he wanted to goad them into a response, to see what would happen if an argument was incited between two best friends. Mark's relationship, he knew, could easily inflame Johnny. Or Johnny's problems might force Mark to become defensive. Either way, it would be educational to see whether friendship or a difference of opinion would be stronger.

"Peter, you always play psychologist with us!" Johnny claimed, even though, a minute ago, he couldn't pry any useful advice from the man.

"Look, I'm just your friend," Peter backed off. "And I'm just worried about you."

"Lisa is teasing me about whether we're going to get married or not," Johnny admitted. "And we didn't make love in a while," he added, although in this case a while means like, three days tops. "And I don't know what to do."

"You never really know, I mean…" Peter trailed off mid-banality. Desperate, he stopped. He had to give something resembling actual advice, or both Mark and Johnny might notice he had an understanding of the human mind that was shaky, at best. "Look, you should tell her about your feelings, okay? You shouldn't hide them," he told Johnny, guidance that would work in just about any situation. "You two have been together forever. You can work out anything as long as you talk about it."

Peter had seen, personally, that this wasn't usually the case, but it should've been. Humans were so unreasonable most times, when all it would take to make peace was often the tiniest of compromises.

"Not always," Johnny disagreed.

"People are people," Peter continued, defaulting to meaningless tautologies. "Sometimes they can't see their own faults."

"Hey, I'm thinking of moving to a bigger place, man," Mark interjected, wanting to change the topic and get further away from his betrayal of the man sitting next to him, a man he believed capable of murder. "I'm making some good money." This was a lie, of course. Mark was living off his rapidly depleting life savings and the good will of friends and family.

"Look, you should tell her the truth," Peter told Mark, getting the newly introduced topic confused with the previous one. Quickly, he searched for the shortest link between what he and Mark had said, frantic to make his statement appear relevant and natural. "I mean you're doing this for your girl, right?"

"You're right, Peter," Johnny chuckled in response. "Is she getting a divorce, Mark?"

"You guys are too much," Mark shook his head. The discussion was getting far too close to Johnny and Lisa's rocky relationship again. Still wanting to avoid that particular subject, he decided to try a different tack. "Hey, are you running Bay to Breakers again this year?" he addressed the room, in general.

"I am, sure," Johnny nodded.

Peter turned away, defeated. There was no natural way for him to guide the conversation back to the trajectory he wanted. "Nah, I'm not doing it this year."

As Mark swallowed the lump in his throat, relieved to have finally gotten the exchange onto neutral ground, Johnny chuckled in response. "Chicken, Peter, you're just a little chicken," he crowed. He cheeped, imitating a chicken, as Mark laughed.

Mentally, Peter performed a quick search of the memory databanks that provided him with the knowledge he needed to blend in, comparing the sound Johnny was making with all known bird calls. It didn't match a chicken, coming closer to newly-hatched chicks, as well as a wide array of song birds.

"Why are you calling me a chicken?" Peter asked, certain the normal human reaction would be hurt and grief at their friend's cruel mockery. "I just don't like all the weirdoes," he added ironically. "There's too many weirdoes there."

"I don't mind," Johnny shrugged. "Mark, do you remember the one with big tits, the blond one?"

Peter replayed the conversation briefly, wondering if Johnny had misheard weirdoes as women, or if he just mentally filed all women as weirdoes.

"How about the one with the bridal gown, with the sign?"

"Oh, yeah, _Can you marry me?_" Johnny remembered the phrase a native English speaker would be incredible unlikely to use and chuckled. "I thought I would take her up on it."

"I never ate so much," Mark added randomly.

"Yeah, the barbecue chicken was delicious rice," Johnny agreed, reminiscing. "That was cool."

"You guys proved me point," Peter interjected. "You're both weird." Although he had only been trying to match the two men's jibes and teasing, Peter had inadvertently stumbled upon a profound truth. He took a seat across from them and, seeing their downcast expressions at his pronouncement, tried to introduce a new source of levity. "You guys want to play cards?"

"No, we can't," Johnny sniffed. "I expect Lisa any minute."

"Hey, come on man, who's the king of the house?" Mark said, another mangled idiom a native English speaker wouldn't employ.

Johnny chuckled in response.

"Yeah, you gotta," Peter mumbled something about 'guy life', trying to feign some masculine bravado, specifying that whatever vague thing he had said had to be done, "Before you get married." As Johnny rose to stalk around the sofa, Peter sensed that his ruse had not been completely successful, and decided to take the attention off himself. "Speaking of," he raised his glass, "How did you ever meet Lisa? You never told us."

"Well, that's a very interesting story." Settling in to tell it, Johnny perched on the sturdy back of the sofa. "When I moved to San Francisco with two suitcases, and I didn't know anyone, and I hit the YMCA with a two-thousand dollar cheque which I couldn't cash."

"Why not?" Mark prompted.

"Well, because it was an out-of-state bank," Johnny explained. "Anyway, I was working as a busboy in a hotel and, uh…" He trailed off as the picture came into his head, clear as day, as if it was happening right in front of him, right now, instead of years ago. "She was sitting, drinking her coffee, and she was so beautiful. And I say hi to her, and that's how we met."

Johnny chuckled as he remembered. He didn't know where he'd found the nerve, but somehow, even though he was in a grease-streaked apron and she was in a gorgeous black gown, flowing to the floor, her had walked right up to her and said, "Oh, hi, beautiful woman." Blushing, Lisa had giggled demurely, the men who she had just been speaking to, walking away in their tailored suits with the leather suitcase they had exchanged for the one now sitting under the table, already forgotten.

"So, I mean, what's the interesting part," Mark joked.

"Well, the interesting part is that on our first date," Johnny recounted, "She paid for dinner."

Confused, Peter decided to say nothing, although he still couldn't see what was interesting about that particular data point.

"What?" Mark exclaimed, flabbergasted. From Bailey's notes on the case, from the money they'd both spent so many sleepless nights tracing, Johnny should have had money flowing in by then. "No tips from your job?"

"Whatever," Johnny laughed as he stood. "Do you guys want to eat something?" he offered, heading for the kitchen.

Mark only shrugged. From behind him, he heard the door open and the click-clack of high-heeled shoes coming inside. He turned to see Lisa slipping inside, Denny behind her.

"Hey, guys," she said, ostensibly to the room, but her sultry smile was only for Mark. "What's going on?"

"Oh, hey, Lisa," Mark greeted her flatly, rising out of his chair.

"Hi, Lisa," Peter smiled.

His eyes taking their time adjusting to the dim light of Johnny and Lisa's condo, Denny stepped over to the window, opening a slit in the drapes and letting a narrow beam of light in to illuminate the room. He hovered near the window, gazing outside.

"Where's Johnny?" Lisa asked.

Indicating with his chin, Mark told her, "In the kitchen." His blue eyes fell on Lisa's face, and he couldn't help but smile. "I gotta go," he excused himself, knowing he could barely contain himself around her.

"I didn't mean to chase you off," Lisa pouted, teasing. "You should stick around for a while."

"I gotta work early," Mark hastily lied. "See you." With that, he pushed past Denny, making his escape. Lisa watched him go. Not far behind, Peter also stood and headed for the door, giving a brief wave to Lisa and Denny before he disappeared, leaving the door wide open.

Sinking to the floor, Denny sat where he was. The door still gaping open behind her, Lisa crouched, bringing herself to eye level with Denny. "Did you get your wedding gown yet?" Denny asked, picturing Lisa in flowing white.

"No," Lisa told him, smirking, knowing that the wedding would never happen. "I've got plenty of time."

"Are you sure you have plenty of time? It's only a month away."

"It'll be fine. What are you so worried about?" Denny didn't respond, studying the ray of light cutting across the hardwood floor. "Everything's okay."

"Johnny doesn't seem very excited," Denny observed, downcast. "Is there a problem?"

"There's no problem," Lisa insisted. "Why do you ask?"

Denny shrugged. "I just want you and Johnny to be happy." He rose to his feet, Lisa matching his movements, keeping his face level with hers.

"I am happy," Lisa grumbled. "Look, Denny, I need to talk to Johnny, okay? I'll see you later."

"Okay. You'll tell him I said hello?"

"Yeah."

Brushing Lisa's hand as he passed, Denny marched out through the still open door, finally pulling it shut behind him. With a sigh, Lisa headed towards the kitchen.


	15. Chapter 15

Peter wasn't sure why he was following Mark. True, his mission was to observe the humans and learn about their patterns, but outright stalking one of them would arouse suspicion. Peter didn't even have a plan for what he would do when he caught up with Mark. As he walked, he wracked his brain for a good excuse, but wasn't sure what would be believable. All he knew was that he was intrigued by the little human drama brewing among his "friends", and he couldn't stand to leave it alone, unfinished.

The footsteps above and ahead of him, echoing down the stairwell, were interrupted by the sound of a door being shoved open and then slamming. Then it was quiet. Afraid Mark had exited on one of the floors, Peter surged ahead, abandoning his slow, silent gait, stopping on every floor to open the door and peer into the hallways.

Nothing. Floor after floor was empty, deserted. Peter didn't know which apartment was Mark's, even which floor he lived on, so he had no idea if Mark could conceivably disappear that fast. As he approached the final door, the one that granted roof access, Peter's stomach – actually a sac in which a population of a mutually-beneficial, moss-like symbiotic species lived – sank.

He pushed the door open, almost sure Mark wouldn't be there. For a moment he didn't seem him as he stood near the door, scanning the rooftop. Finally he noticed Mark, slumped against the waist-high brick wall that rimmed the roof, sitting on the ground. A thin white rod was wedged between his fingers, a wisp of grey smoke curling from it up into the air. _One of the bundles of dried leaves and paper the humans like to set on fire and inhale_, Peter thought.

Peter closed the door behind him and strode over to where Mark sat. "Hey, Mark. What's up?"

"Oh, hey, Peter," Mark answered as Peter pulled up one of the cheap aluminum chairs and sat.

"It's a good place to think up here, isn't it?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "What, man, you want to put me on the clock?" he asked.

His incredibly sensitive chemo-sensors detecting that the substance in Mark's hand was not tobacco, Peter decided that, were he simply a fellow human, he would be concerned. "What the hell's that?" he demanded, pointing at the joint.

Mark grinned. "You want some?" he offered. "It's good, bro."

"You know I don't smoke that stuff," Peter chided. He had an extensive series of protocols for how to modify his behaviour should it appear that his hologram had ingested any kind of drug, but he'd found it was too much of a bother, despite the fact that it gained the trust of certain humans.

Mark sighed, a long stream of smoke exploding from his lips, and then took another deep breath from the joint. He let this one slowly trickle from his lungs.

"You look depressed," Peter observed.

"I got this sick feeling in my stomach, man," Mark replied with a shake of his head. "I did something awful. I don't think I can forgive myself."

"Tell me about it," Peter urged, standing.

Like he weighted a thousand pounds, Mark heaved himself to his feet, pacing the rooftop. "I just feel like running," he started, taking another toke, "Killing myself. Or something crazy like that." His words were burdened, as if Mark was exhausted.

"Why are you smoking that crap?" Peter pleaded with Mark, watching him bring the joint to his mouth again. "It's no wonder you can't think straight. It's going to screw with your head."

Mark turned. "It's none of your business, man. You think you know everything." Stalking around Peter, Mark's eyes burned. "You don't know shit."

"Wait a second," Peter stopped him, grabbing Mark's elbow and whirling him around to face him. "Who do you think you are?" he demanded. "You're acting like a kid! Just grow up."

"Man, who are you calling kid?" With unexpected strength brought on by the haze of reefer making its way through his body, Mark grabbed Peter by his lapels, shaking him hard enough to make the hologram's pain sensors go off. "Fuck you."

"Well just chill out, Mark," Peter held up his hands in surrender, trying to wiggle out of Mark's grip. "I'm just trying to help." The tension went out of Mark's hands as Peter paused, thinking. His databanks told him that the drug coursing through Mark should be making him calm, not aggressive – this emotional response was a result of deep, pervasive stress. Perhaps the married woman he was involved with was the cause? Humans did seem exponentially more likely to do something if it was particularly stupid. A thought occurred to him. "You're having an affair with Lisa, aren't you?"

"What?" Mark said slowly, colour draining from his face. His knuckles whitened too, as he tightened his fists, grasping and shaking Peter again. "What?" he demanded, louder, inches from Peter's face. Rage twisted his features.

Peter's neck was wrenched as he was yanked to the side of the building, to the waist-high wall that penned in the roof. The hologram gritted its teeth as its elbow was rammed into the brickwork and pinned. He struggled, but his analytic programs told him he couldn't win – not that he wasn't able to, but that he simply couldn't. The hologram had quite a few tricks for neutralizing or silencing any of the humans surrounding it, and if it was bested, it was only a projection that could be recalled at any time only to reappear anywhere else. But, barring a catastrophic situation, realistic limits had been imposed on the force the hologram could use, and right now, Mark was using more force than Peter was allowed to counter.

Still enraged, Mark forced Peter's head out over the eight story drop at the side of the building, nothing but air between him and the pavement below. Mark tugged, slowly but surely hauling Peter up onto the guard wall, readying to fling him to his apparent death.

"What are you, nuts?" Peter exclaimed. It was a bizarre turn of events, the alien reflected, and it distressed him even though he wasn't in any danger. Killing another of your kind was a taboo in nearly every known intelligent species. Even if Mark hadn't had a purported friendship with Peter, the willingness to risk imprisonment was confusing.

Maybe, Peter thought, maybe this is a unique research opportunity. Mark was clearly suffering some kind of episode, and the effects of such an unstable element within his small, close-knit group of friends promised to be interested. Unfortunately, if Mark thought he had killed the Peter hologram, he would have to observe it from afar.

Suddenly unwilling to abandon the project, to leave the tiny lives of the creatures whose lives he had entered, Peter overrode the imposed limits just enough to fight back. Added strength surging through him, he pressed a palm into Mark's chest, shoving him away. Mark flew backwards from the force of the push, stumbling halfway across the rooftop before he found his footing.

Mark drew himself to his full height. Watching the man stalk towards him, Peter did the same. He had no reason to be intimidated now. With the controls overridden, he could overpower Mark with little effort.

"I'm sorry," Mark apologised for the attempted murder. "I'm sorry, man. Are you okay?"

Thrown off by Mark's mood swings, Peter shook his head. "Yeah, I'm fine," he spat. "Let's just talk about your problem."

Mark searched Peter's face, surprised by Peter's insistent return to Mark's issues despite what had just happened. He could only hope that Peter was simply the most forgiving person ever, and that he didn't have some ulterior motive. The last thing Mark wanted to happen was for word that he was losing his mind to get back to the San Francisco Police Department. For all he knew, Peter's concern could be a tactic to gather evidence against him, but there was nothing he could do. He had to play along, do everything he could to appease Peter. He needed his good will. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yeah."

Peter motioned at the two patio chairs. With a sigh, Mark trudged towards them, but he had no intention of sitting. He kicked the top off the table, feeling some grim satisfaction at the clang of the aluminum hitting the concrete, the sound echoing across the rooftop, before he booted one of the chairs out of his way, watching it clatter against the brickwork. Leaning against the wall beyond the cheap patio set, he sulked, peering at the long drop to the pavement below him.

After a moment's contemplation, Mark turned and started pacing. "Damn, man, fuck," he hissed under his breath before turning on Peter. "Why do you want to know my secret, man?" he demanded. "Well, you're right. It's Lisa." Mark shook his head. "I don't know what to do, man. I'm so depressed. It's all her fault. She's such a manipulative bitch!" The words exploded out of Mark, held back for so long that they could barely be contained.

"How did you let this happen?" Peter chided with an inquisitive tilt of his head. Still reeling from what he had said, Mark swore to himself as Peter spoke. "You know this is going to ruin your friendship with Johnny. What were you thinking?"

The question was asked in earnest. Peter had no idea what kind of thought process went into much of the decision-making that humans performed. This particular instance was a shining example, where even Peter knew that the cons far outweighed the pros.

Mark didn't answer. His eyes stared off into the distance.

"Alright, you want my advice?" Peter finally offered. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "Sometimes, life can get complicated," he started, since there was no way for Mark to know this was the same advice he had given Johnny, "And you've got to be responsible. So you don't see Lisa again, and you definitely don't sleep with her again."

Mark nodded. The advice was sound, obvious and exactly what he knew he needed to do. It was also something he knew he didn't have the strength to follow, not if Lisa called again, her voice in his ear, telling him all the things he wanted to hear, asking him to come over. Mark could only argue with her for so long.

_Peter had to understand that_, Mark thought. He had to know what it was like when a gorgeous woman told a man what she wanted, and all questions, all protests disappeared. Abandoning responsibilities at that point wasn't a choice that could be made, it was an inevitability. A woman showing a man her boobies instantly absolved him of all responsibility for his actions, making everything he did the woman's fault, everyone knew that.

"Just…" Peter was continuing, interrupting Mark's deep, profound thoughts. "Find yourself another girl. She's a sociopath!" he declared, in direct opposition to his refusal to believe Lisa could cheat on Johnny just minutes before. "She only cares about herself. She can't love anyone!"

This was not something Mark could believe, mostly because of the aforementioned boob-magic. "Whatever, Peter," he growled. "Come on," he said, stalking off the rooftop, his hand on Peter's shoulder as they walked together.


	16. Chapter 16

"Oh, thank you," Johnny said into the phone, "Thanks a lot."

He hung up the phone next to the tasteful photos of cutlery and looked down at his clothes. The tuxedo he wore, still in need of tailoring, hung off him, baggy and rumpled, the jacket seeming to merge seamlessly with his shaggy black hair, turning him into a tall, dark blob. It would need a lot of work before it was presentable for his wedding. In front of him, the door swung open.

"Oh, hi, Denny," Johnny greeted. "Nice tux, you look great!" Like Johnny, Denny was trying on his outfit for Johnny and Lisa's wedding, but his tuxedo already fit him like a glove, his skinny frame complimented by the suit and his bowtie positioned perfectly. A football was clutched between his hands, and he toyed with it in excitement.

"You look really handsome," Denny replied, returning the compliment. Johnny chuckled in response. His eyes taking Johnny in, looking him up and down, Denny added, "Your wedding picture's going to look great."

"Oh, thanks," Johnny smiled.

The doorbell rang. Denny turned to answer it, lighting up as he recognised Peter standing outside. "Hey, Peter," he said brightly. "Come on in."

"Oh, hi, Peter," Johnny chimed in as the hologram stepped inside.

"Hey, guys," Peter nodded, closing the door behind him.

Johnny mumbled something, and Denny nodded his approval. "A good tip," he noted.

Motioning at the small seating area of his and Lisa's condo, Johnny told Peter, "Sit down."

The doorbell rang again, literally less than ten seconds after Peter had announced himself the same way. Denny laughed opened the door again. It took a moment for him to process what he saw on the other side. His eyes widened as he stared, amazed.

"Wow," he gasped.

"Wow," Johnny echoed, drawing the sentiment out.

His face clean-shaven and smooth, Mark stepped inside and flashed a thousand-watt smile. Like Denny and Peter, he was tastefully clad in his tailored tux. "Hey, guys," he grinned. Everyone stared silently at him, lost in his eyes. "You like it?" he finally prompted.

They all nodded, and a chorus of approving _Yeah_s enveloped Mark.

"You look great," Johnny observed. "You look, uh, babyface, huh?"

"You guys want to place some football?" Denny suddenly asked.

"In tuxes?" Peter clarified, searching his memory banks. In all his information on humanity, he could not find a single recorded instance of sports being played in formal wear, or at least not formal wear that had been expensive and was supposed to look pleasing to humans. The idea was unprecedented, and to blend in, he had to decline. "No. You've got to be kidding."

Denny blinked, hurt. He turned to Mark. "Come on, Mark," he pleaded, "Let's do it."

"I'm up for it," Mark shrugged.

Johnny chuckled in response.

"Johnny?" Denny solicited.

"Ask Peter," he smirked.

"Come on, Peter!"

"Nah, I don't think so," Peter shook his head, adjusting his cufflinks and smoothing any wrinkles from his tuxedo.

"Please?" Denny begged.

"No."

"Come on!" Denny crouched and flapped his elbows at his sides. "Cheep, cheep, cheep," he called out, supposedly imitating a chicken. Mark and Johnny joined in, surrounding Peter with their absurd bird calls.

Their chatter didn't stop as Peter finally gave in and they all ran into the alley outside, hooting and calling the entire way. Making a note, Peter studied their behaviour, still cross-checking it against his memory banks, observing that it seemed to be anomalous.

He had to admit, though, that the spontaneity of it was amusing, and he found himself smiling – actually excreting pungent pheromones from several sebaceous glands located over his eye – along with the hologram that represented him. These humans had forfeited substantial amounts of something they valued so highly, their money, for the garments they wore, and yet they were so willing to risk damage to the suits simply to make each other happy.

"Catch, Johnny!" Denny called out, and ahead of him, still running, Johnny turned and caught the ball over his shoulder. "Nice snag!" Denny complimented.

Slowing to a stop, Johnny whirled and tossed the football in a high, overhand arc. Calculating the projectile's trajectory and speed, Peter adjusted the hologram's position by a few microns and held up both hands to provide the best probability of catching the ball. It landed in his hands easily.

"Alright Peter!" Denny cheered, apparently committed to providing an inane running commentary.

Peter performed a few more calculations using the massive, orbiting supercomputers his brain was currently attached to, and found that an underhand throw, while sacrificing distance, would provide greater control. The three other humans were only a few feet away, eliminating the necessity for distance. He tossed the ball to Denny.

Without missing a beat, Denny snatched the ball out of midair. "Here we go, Mark!" he announced, throwing the ball across the alley. God, I hate this guy.

Denny crouched, lowering his center of gravity and trying to provide an enticing target. Mark obliged, hurling the football directly at his chest. Stumbling slightly from the force of the throw, Denny caught the ball and returned it instantly to Mark, calling out, "Catch, Mark!" as he did.

Although the three humans hopped and dodged no matter where the football was relative to them, Peter stood perfectly still, not sure what advantage such constant motion could convey.

The ball still clutched in his hands, Mark's eyes fell on Peter. "Go," he commanded, motioning with one hand to indicate the area behind Peter, further back in the alley. He held the football up, preparing to throw. "Go!"

Peter turned and ran, forgetting himself completely in the joy of the game. Wind flowing past the hologram, he sprinted, feeling a stronger sense of belonging than he ever had on his home-world of Xpsd'n. Lost in the moment, he didn't notice when his sensors told him to alter course, and the hologram's foot collided with a small stone.

The holographic image could have easily passed through the object, but that may have been noticed, and the overrides took over, calculating exactly how the body Peter controlled should react. His limbs flailing, he fell to the pavement, almost face-planting.

Wishing he could replay those last few moments, now over forever, Peter laid dejected on the concrete. Johnny, Denny and Mark came running over, worried about their friend.

Seeing Peter wasn't injured, Denny grinned like an idiot. "Gee, Peter, you're clumsy," he commented stupidly.

"That's it," Peter announced, pushing himself up off the ground, "I'm done. Great idea, Denny." He groaned in an imitation of pain as Mark and Johnny grabbed his arms, helping him to his feet. Denny still grinned, oblivious to the insult, as the four men marched back inside.

* * *

The night was clear, balmy, fresh, and a million other synonyms for pleasant that the humans might use. As Peter walked down the empty street, he was filled with warm hopes for Johnny and Lisa, despite his logical side telling him there was no way their relationship would work out, and the best case scenario was that they avoided the impending implosion. Some part of him, though, somehow believed, apparently through sheer stubbornness, that things would work out.

The streetlight ahead of Peter flickered, throwing the sidewalk into strobing darkness, making the road in front of him seem to momentarily disappear before his eyes. That didn't seem right. His sensory detectors should have been strong enough to pick up an infrared visual, even in total darkness. He frowned, running a diagnostic on his optics.

The street flickered again, disappearing completely to be replaced by a monitor telling him he had been disconnected. An image appeared on the screen, one of his superior officers.

"Oh, hi, Observer-237," his commander's inflated bladder buzzed. "We've noticed you've been having some anomalous hormone profiles lately."

"I can't afford to have my mission interrupted now," Peter shot back. "I'm at a crucial juncture."

The commander paused. "Then it is as we feared," she burbled. "You have grown too close to the humans to be objective."

"Have you not read my reports? My objectivity towards the humans cannot be questioned."

"Observer-237, even your self-analysis does not seem to be objective."

"I am perfectly capable of fulfilling my mission!" Peter graulphed.

"I am sorry," the commander mogged dispassionately. "We are forced to re-assign you, Observer-237."

"My name," he hissed, "Is Peter."


	17. Chapter 17

The coffee shop was as busy inside as the street outside, the muffled sounds of cars whizzing by overpowered by the chatter of a long line of customers, each eager for an afternoon snack and coffee to get them over the late afternoon slump.

"I'll have a large peanut butter cup," a young woman in a black tank top said after briefly hemming and hawing. "With extra whipped cream, please."

It took all her willpower not to scratch the small of her back, where her tight shirt was already rubbing off small, colourful scabs. The lingering itchiness – not to mention the initial agony of the tattoo needle carving patterns in her skin – were totally worth it though. Soon it would heal and she could show her boyfriend the design, a symbol of her love for him.

She had resisted the urge to get his name. It was tacky, she thought, and seemed too much like a branding. Instead, she had gotten an image of Lotta's fountain, where they had met, surrounded by daisies like the one he had jokingly offered her from her own garden on their first date. The flower had grown into a private in-joke between them, and every bouquet of daisies he gave her made her laugh.

"Alright," the man with her, clad in a soft, brown leather jacket, nodded, "And I'll take some cheesecake and a coffee."

The man wondered how slowly he could make the food and drink last. He couldn't take that long – it would seem odd if he let the coffee grow cold even as he sipped it. But he needed to kill at least an hour.

From the last text he'd gotten, his best friend was just now picking up the huge supply of daisies he'd ordered. It would take him at least half an hour to let himself into the apartment the couple shared and start bringing the hundreds of flowers upstairs. By the time the couple returned, there would be daisies strewn across every surface of their small home, the perfect setting in which to propose.

"Alright, why don't you guys take a seat," the store's manager offered. "We'll have that right out for you."

The couple walked away, already having mentally selected a small table next to the window. Another couple standing behind them approached the counter.

"Hi," the barista at the till, Susan, a woman with curly red hair, chirped. "How ya doin'? What would you like?"

The man didn't even get off his cell phone, only turning an eighth of his attention to the barista. "Can I get a bagel with a peanut butter cup?" he asked.

"Keep acting completely normal," the digitally disguised voice on the phone commanded after the man had repeated the food order that he'd been given, word for word. "You will be given further instructions soon. Do anything to attract any attention and your daughter dies."

The man tried to shake off the sinking feeling he got from the words on the other end of the line. An hour ago, when he'd first gotten the call, he'd panicked. Now, despite his fear, he was beginning to accept the feeling. He had to. If he wasn't calm, if he couldn't cope…

No. That was unthinkable. He had to be strong. He had to save his little girl.

"Great," Susan smiled, "Sure!"

"I'm going to get a slice of cheesecake and a bottle of water," the woman with him requested, her hair tied back in a long, flowing ponytail.

She wasn't sure why the man next to her was so important to the plan. She didn't even know what the plan was, really. She only knew her part. Keep him in line. Monitor him. Make sure he couldn't sneak a message or communicate his distress to anyone.

_Years spent organising coups in South America, _the woman thought with amusement,_ and all along the real money was in babysitting_.

"Yeah, sounds good," the store manager nodded. "Why don't you take a seat and we'll have that right out for you."

"Oh, hi, Susan," Johnny said as he strolled up to the counter, a folder in hand, Mark just behind him.

"Well, hi, Johnny," Susan greeted him. "How are ya? Good to see ya. What would you like?"

"Hot chocolate, please," Johnny requested.

"What size you having?" the store manager asked.

Johnny shook the long hair out of his eyes. "Medium."

"How 'bout you?" Susan asked, turning to Mark.

"I'll have a mint tea," Mark smiled.

"Medium also?"

"Yeah."

"Go sit down," Susan said, she and her co-worker finally leaving the till to start preparing some of the orders. "We'll be right there."

Johnny and Mark turned and found a seat, right between the two couples who had been in line ahead of them.

"I'm so tired of girls' games," Mark sighed.

His face full of concern, Johnny delicately laid the folder on the table in front of him. "What happened now, Mark?"

Mark shook his head. "Relationships never work, you know?" he started. "Why waste my time?"

"What makes you say that?"

His blue eyes downcast, Mark studied the table. "It's not that easy, Johnny," he replied, not really answering his best friend's question.

"Well, you should be happy, Mark," Johnny urged.

"Yeah, I know," he conceded, rolling his eyes. "Life is too short."

Just then, their conversation was interrupted by two paper cups, decorated with a cow-hide pattern, placed on the table in front of them. The warm scent of chocolate, mingled with peppermint from the tea, swirled up out of the two cups enticingly.

"Oh, thank you, Susan," Johnny said gratefully.

"You're welcome," Susan nearly sang. "How 'bout somethin' like cheesecake?" she suggested.

"Nah," Johnny declined.

"Not today," Mark added.

"It's real good," Susan tempted before leaving.

Mark and Johnny both took deep drinks from their cups, ignoring the heat. "How was work today?" Mark asked.

"Oh, pretty good," Johnny nodded. "We got a new client at the bank. We'll make a lot of money."

The words _client_ and _money_ made Mark's ears perk, and he practically stood at attention. He'd just gotten Donahue to start paying attention to his suspicions, and now Johnny was practically gift-wrapping a new lead. "What client?" he asked, hoping his eagerness could be mistaken for casual curiosity, and knowing it wasn't.

"I cannot tell you," Johnny shot. "It's confidential."

If Johnny were merely a humble banker as he claimed, Mark considered, he would have good reason not to give out the names of clients. Mark knew he wouldn't get a name, but he hoped to get some kind of reaction. It was a long shot – Johnny had gone under the radar for this long, and obviously wouldn't be easy to unnerve.

"Aw, come on," Mark tried again. "Why not?"

"No, I can't," Johnny told him, taking another sip of hot chocolate. "Anyway, how is your sex life?"

Shrugging, Mark pursed his lips. "Can't talk about it," he said with a teasing smile.

"Why not?"

Susan placed the bill on the table between the two men before telling them, "Take your time."

"Oh, God, I have to run," Johnny excused himself, checking his watch. He drained the rest of the hot chocolate and gathered up the folder in front of him.

"Already?" Mark asked, confused. Was this the reaction he'd hoped for? Should he follow Johnny?

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

"Alright," Mark said, grabbing the bill, "It's on me."

"Yeah, see you." Johnny rose to his feet. "See you, Mark." He held up his hand.

"Are you going jogging?" Mark asked as their palms clapped together in a gesture somewhere between a high five and a hand shake. "Golden Gate Park?"

"Yeah, sure," Johnny agreed. "What time?"

"Golden Gate Park," Mark said again as he and Johnny gave each other props. "Six thirty. Alright?"

"Okey-dokey," Johnny answered as he picked up his empty paper cup and left.

* * *

Their hands clasped tightly together, Lisa led Mark up the spiral staircase, into the bedroom. She turned around to face him, guiding his hands onto her hips.

"What's going on here?" Mark demanded.

Lisa smiled seductively. "I like you very much, Mark," she told him, running a hand over his chest, feeling the bulge of his muscles.

"Come on," Mark censured her, "Johnny's my best friend."

"Just one more time," Lisa pleaded, pressing closer. Her green eyes looked up at Mark, sparkling in the candlelight. Her hands worked their way under his shirt, caressing his abs as they tugged at the material. Finally, Mark acquiesced by raising his arms above his head, allowing Lisa to lift his shirt and cast it off, onto the couch, exposing his bare chest. Her warm hand held the back of his neck, pulling him closer as they kissed.

All his resolve, all his will, all his protestations disappeared as Lisa giggled and pushed Mark onto the bed she shared with her future husband. Hungrily, she crawled onto the bed after him, lying beside him and stroking his wrist. Mark's fingers worked their way through her hair, bunching the soft locks in his hand. Lisa guided his hand down from her head, to her neck, to her shoulder, and finally to the meager strap of her black dress. As Mark pulled the strap away, Lisa wriggled out of the material, sitting up to let it fall from her body.

Free from the dress, Lisa embraced Mark. They pressed together, tangled in each other and the deep crimson sheets of Johnny and Lisa's bed, murmuring to each other as they got as close as two people can be.

* * *

As he drove through Golden Gate Park, Johnny saw Mark, sitting against a tree. He pulled his small white car into a vacant spot next to his best friend and got out.

"Hey," he greeted Mark brightly.

"Hey, Johnny, how's it going?" Mark rose to his feet. He reached out and slapped hands with Johnny, his bare skin against Johnny's work-out glove, as they strolled off together towards one of the large green expanses of the park. With a flick of his wrist, Mark threw the football in his hands to Johnny, who caught it as he began running. Matching his speed, Mark asked, "What's going on, Johnny?"

Johnny tossed the ball back as they jogged slightly apart, the distance between them growing with each step. "Not much," he replied, returning the football.

Their words were tossed back and forth to match the ball as they jogged around the park. After a few minutes, they settled on a spot, standing about ten yards apart as they played catch. The football spiralled in the air between them in graceful arcs.

Finally, Johnny tossed the football at Mark and then came hurtling after it. He tackled his best friend and they tumbled to the ground. The ball was knocked out of Mark's hands as he and Johnny wrestled in the grass, laughed as they each tried to pin the other.


	18. Chapter 18

The broom hissed against the floor, clearing the dust from the hardwood, until the doorbell rang. "Who is it?" Lisa called out, the long yellow handle of the broom bright against the deep red of her shirt.

"Delivery, man," came the response from the other side of the door. Lisa scrunched up her face. She wasn't expecting any kind of delivery, and couldn't remember her future husband ordering anything recently. She finally recognised the voice as Mark's, as he added, "It's me, Lisa. Come on, open up."

Crimson with lipstick, Lisa's lips opened in a wide smile. "Come on in," she invited, still clutching the broom. Hey eyes lit up as Mark did as she asked, his muscular frame covered in a snug-fitting sweater. "Hey, Mark," she said bewitchingly.

Ignoring the tone of her voice, Mark stalked around the room, inspecting the small space and dropping a small grocery bag on the coffee table. "Wow, so, uh, you gonna be ready?" he asked as he looked around the room.

"How do you mean that?" Lisa asked perplexingly. "I'm always ready," she flirted, smirking. "For you," she clarified, just in case Mark didn't get it.

"I mean for the party," Mark replied with a laugh.

"We have plenty of time. All I have to do is put on my…" She paused, letting the suspense build. "Party dress." Flippantly, she cast the broom into the corner and pulled off her blood-coloured top, exposing the bra, black as her heart, beneath.

"Wait, wait, wait," Mark stopped her, confused, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Lisa answered, rolling Mark's sweater up to reveal his abs. Raising his arms, Mark obliged, letting her strip the shirt off. She giggled as it nearly got stuck on his head, and they tumbled to the sofa together as it wrapped around his arm.

Now topless, Mark pulled Lisa into his lap. "You're so beautiful," he cooed. He ran his fingers through her soft blonde hair, inadvertently hitting her dangling, golden earring. The jewellery, a present from her future husband, swayed back and forth, catching his eye and reminding him of his crimes, but there was no way he could stop now. He'd already gone too far.

Their lips found each other, and they locked, lost in the sensation, the taste of each other. Mark didn't know how long the kiss went on, but when they parted, all thoughts of his best friend were gone. All he could see was Lisa.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Heavy and insistent, it was powerful enough to make the hinges rattle.

With a gasp, Lisa sprang off the couch, away from Mark. Frantically disentangling the sweater enveloping his arm, Mark stood as Lisa snatched her shirt from the sofa.

"Hurry up," she directed as she tried to get her shirt right side out. "I have to open the door."

"Wait, hang on, hang on," Mark told her, still battling with his shirt.

Watching him, Lisa giggled as she pulled her shirt on over her head. She took a moment to smooth the wrinkles before calling out, "Come on in, it's open."

Mark's face went white as he managed to work one arm into one sleeve. His chest was still bare and the door was already swinging open. Time seemed to stand still, the door seemed to move in slow motion as Mark redoubled his efforts to cover up.

_Did Lisa want to get caught? _he wondered._ Was this how she planned to get out of her impending marriage to her future husband?_ If that was the case, this was certainly the most dramatic way to go about it, opening cheating on Johnny on his birthday. _But, _Mark thought,_ Lisa doesn't know how dangerous an idea this is if my suspicions about her future husband are correct._

He just managed to pull the neck of the sweater over his head as the door opened all the way. Although he was covered, he knew anyone coming in would know he had just finished getting dressed. Luckily, it was Michelle who was standing in the open doorway. She gave a little gasp and then grinned wickedly as Mark hurriedly tried to neaten his hair.

"Hi!" Michelle chirped brightly. She held out a gift bag printed with large, red flowers. "I brought the stuff."

"I knew I could count on you," Lisa giggled.

Grinning, Michelle turned to Mark. "Hi, Mark," she greeted him. Her eyes flashed downwards. "XYZ."

"What are you talking about?" Mark asked with a faint smile of confusion.

"Examine Your Zipper," she explained, giggling.

Lisa burst into helpless laughter in response as Mark looked down, seeing where Lisa had left his pants unzipped. Blushing, he fixed his fly.

"You guys are too much," Michelle shook her head. "So, what can I do to help?" she offered, holding up the bag she had brought.

Still embarrassed, Mark only laughed. "I gotta go," he excused himself. As Michelle and Lisa kept snorting with laughter, he headed for the door, quickly exiting the small condo.

Lisa and Michelle fell onto the sofa, giggling. It took them a few moments to recover. "Come on and help me move the coffee table," Lisa finally said to her friend.

"Okay." They stood. "What was he doing here?"

"Uh, he just brought by some take-out," Lisa answered.

"What about his zipper?" Michelle pressed as they paced towards either end of the coffee table.

"What about his zipper?" Lisa echoed, leaning down to grab the two corners nearest her. Together they managed to slide the small table back into place next to the sofa. "Leave him alone. He's a good guy."

"Did you tell Johnny yet?" Michelle asked, bringing up her friend's unfaithfulness to her future husband with a huge grin.

"No," Lisa sighed, her eyes filled with sorrow. "Mark's his best friend."

"Tricky, tricky."

Lisa accepted the bowl Michelle produced from her bag and put it on the coffee table. "You know, I really loved Johnny at first," she said wistfully, sitting down. "Everything's changed. I need more from life than what Johnny can give me," she continued. "Suddenly my eyes are wide open and I can see everything so clearly. I want it all."

With a short guffaw, Michelle looked at her friend, surprised she wasn't satisfied by the tiny condo she shared with a future husband that was about twice her age. "You think you can get it all from Mark?"

"If he can't give me what I want," Lisa scrunched up her face, "Someone else will."

"Lisa," Michelle chastised, taking a seat next to her friend, "You're sounding just like your mother. You're being so manipulative," she grinned.

"So what?" Lisa shot. "You can learn something from me. You have to take as much as you can. You have to live, live, live." With a joyous wriggle of her shoulders, Lisa let out another wicked giggle. "Don't worry about me. I have everything covered."

"Your point of view is so different from mine," Michelle pointed out without emotion.

"Look, I don't want to talk about it," Lisa told her. She stood, grabbing the broom. "People are going to be getting here soon, and we have to finish."

"Lisa…" Michelle groaned.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Lisa cut her off, unpacking the brown paper grocery bag Mark had left. "Doesn't everybody look out for number one?" She continued throwing food onto the coffee table. "Don't I deserve the best?"

Watching her friend in horror, Michelle scoffed. "I couldn't do that." She shook her head, laughing uncomfortably. "You're too much for me, Lisa."

"You know, you're not such an angel yourself," Lisa smirked, pointing an accusing finger down at Michelle.

"Yeah, but we're not talking about me," she retorted, picking up a pillow, "Are we?" With a giggle, she swung the pillow into Lisa's knee. Shrieking with laughter, Lisa dodged away, shielding herself from the onslaught.

"Stop it!" she laughed, using the broom to swat the pillow away. The two friends both cackled with merriment as they battled. "Are you trying to ruin my party?"

* * *

Their sneaker-shod feet throwing up clouds of dirt and clumps of leaves and twigs, Johnny and Mark jogged side by side through Golden Gate Park. "Yeah, that's the idea," Johnny was commenting as he ran.

With a surge of energy, Mark bolted forward, slowly gaining a lead on his best friend. "Catch me, come on," he urged as he thundered forward, wind blowing through his hair. In response, Johnny's legs and arms pumped harder, cutting through the air with renewed vigour. He chuckled as they raced along the path, surrounded and shaded by tall trees.

As they dashed up a few sets of stairs cut into the side of a hill, Mark told Johnny about his plans to buy a house, asking between gasps for air what interest rates to expect on a mortgage. The friends panted, setting up an appointment to discuss Mark's finances further.

Later they returned to the apartment building. The brakes of Johnny's boxy white car squealed as he pulled into his driveway and parked.

* * *

Denny slipped the thin chain from around his neck, freeing the key which he always wore under his shirt. It was the only copy of the key that existed, and he kept it hidden against his chest, where he could always feel it, at all times.

Kneeling in front of the open closet, he pushed a pile of laundry out of the way to reveal a locked metal cabinet. He unlocked the door and let it swing open with a shriek. Behind the door, sitting in the small rectangular space, was a styrofoam head and neck on a pedestal next to a hairbrush. On top of the head sat a long, black, stringy wig.

Denny grabbed the hairbrush and lovingly combed it through the wig, keeping the hairpiece perfectly maintained. After a few minutes, he carefully, reverently picked up the wig and placed it on his head, smoothing it out against his scalp.

Still adjusting the hair, making sure it looked like it was his own, Denny stood and stalked over to the full-length mirror standing in his bedroom. He stared himself, admiring his image in the mirror.

"Would you fuck me?" he asked his reflection, imitating Johnny's impenetrable accent. "I'd fuck me."


	19. Chapter 19

The next morning, Johnny was still eating breakfast as he was leaving for work. "Bye, Lisa," he said through a mouthful of bagel as he knelt to kiss his future wife's cheek. Sitting with her coffee, wearing the same clothes she wore the day before, Lisa tilted her head to receive the kiss, but her eyes watched her future husband with loathing as he headed for the door. He opened it to leave and his face brightened. "Oh, hi, Claudette."

"Ah!" she replied.

Holding the bagel in his hand away to prevent any crumbs from landing on her pantsuit, Johnny embraced his future wife's mother in a hug. "Bye."

"Ah," Claudette replied. As she waved good-bye at her daughter's future husband's retreating back, Johnny pulled the door shut behind him.

"Hello, mom," Lisa said, watching her mother trot inside. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," Claudette replied, cupping her daughter's chin in her hand as she passed behind her chair. "How are you?"

"I'm fixing the apartment for Johnny's birthday," Lisa started listlessly as her mother sat down in the chair next to hers, "But I'm really not into it."

"Oh, why not?" Claudette asked, disappointed.

Annoyed, Lisa fixed her mother with a frustrated expression. "Because I'm in love with Mark," she reminded her mother. "Not Johnny." Claudette rolled her eyes at her daughter's continued insistence that she was uninterested in her future husband. "And here I am planning his party."

"It's not right, Lisa," her mother scolded. "I still think you should marry Johnny. Now you can't live on love," she continued, telling her daughter the only way for a woman to survive was to be supported by a man and ignoring hard-won rights that women had to fight for decades to have. "You need financial security."

"But I'm not happy," Lisa shot back. Her mother scoffed and rolled her eyes again, seriously preferring that her daughter be miserable than work for a living. "He still thinks I'm going to marry him next month. He's a fool." Slamming her mug down on the coffee table, Lisa stood to walk away.

"You expect to be happy?" Claudette demanded as her daughter grabbed the broom propped up against the wall. "I haven't been happy since…" She trailed off, trying to remember. "Since I married my first husband."

Oh, hi, audience! This is your humble narrator. Appy polly loggies for being so unprofessional as to interrupt, since I have been trying – and rather failing, as you noticed – to not editorialise, but this really bothers me.

So, Johnny's supposed to be great and perfect in every way, right? We're supposed to hate Lisa for cheating on him, not just because it's awful, but because she's betraying Saint Johnny, yeah? Presumably we're also supposed to think the moral course of action for Lisa is to stop sleeping with Mark and marry Johnny, despite the fact that she'd be unhappy for the rest of her life.

I mean, that is what Tommy Wiseau is saying here, right? That women can either have happiness or not be impoverished, and that's the way it should be? That once a dude has bought you stuff, it doesn't matter what you do or if you enjoy being around him, he has now earned you?

You could say that Claudette is supposed to be the stereotypical gold-digger, and she's meant as this example of a really wrong view of marriage, but the thing is, we are supposed to feel that Lisa is beholden to Johnny because he's given her things and because he's in love with her. Basically, she no longer has complete control over her situation because she owes Johnny her love. That's not even subtext, it's regular friggin' text! This fucked-up, toxic bullshit is starting to make me feel physically ill, but at least I no longer feel bad for making fun of this utter failure of a magnum opus, or the twisted fuck who wrote it.

Also, have you noticed that Lisa's in her early twenties – the actress was twenty-two at the time – and Claudette says they've been dating for over five years? (Edit: towards the end, Johnny clarifies that it's seven years.) Think about it.

Anyways, back to your scheduled programming.

"I didn't even want to marry your father," Claudette confided.

Lisa nearly dropped her broom. "You never told me that," she gaped.

"Well, it's true," Claudette told her. "All men are assholes. Men and women use and abuse each other all the time. There's nothing wrong with it. Marriage has nothing to do with love."

"Johnny's okay," Lisa conceded, ready to be a shameless gold-digger thanks to that inspiring pep talk. "I suppose. Actually," she smirked, "I have him wrapped around my little finger."

"Well, you should be happy then," Claudette shrugged, the shrivelled, black piece of shit in her chest that she called her heart dancing with joy.

"But I don't love him!" Lisa spat, failing to absorb the thesis statement of her mother's life and this movie.

Scoffing, Claudette stood, getting inches from her daughter's face. "Don't throw your life away just because you don't love him," she told Lisa. "That's ridiculous! You need to grow up and you need to listen to me."

"Okay, mom," Lisa agreed, more to end the conversation than anything else. "I'll see you at the party." Seeing the sad look in her daughter's eyes, Claudette scoffed, knowing Lisa was not going to take her advice. "I just need to be alone right now."

With a nod, Claudette kissed the tip of her finger, tapping it to her daughter's nose in her usual way of saying goodbye. Lisa scrunched up her face in response. "Bye bye, my precious," she hissed as she turned and walked away.


	20. Chapter 20

Mark leaned out over the edge of the roof, gazing down at the alley below, but not really seeing it. Johnny's birthday that night promised to be a festive event, but Mark wasn't sure he would be able to enjoy it. Donahue had been briefly interested in his unofficial investigation when Mark had identified Chris-R, but that had died down as the drug dealer's background was investigated and no connection to Johnny was found. It was all just coincidence, Donahue had said. Of course, he still had yet to come up with an explanation for Chris-R's bail money.

And now Mark had to spend the evening in the lion's den, at a party celebrating the life of the man he was sure had killed his partner, all while knowing the investigation had stalled again. All while pretending he was enjoying himself. He gritted his teeth. He had to put on a good show. Being at this party would edge him ever closer to Johnny, and who knew how close he'd have to be to find the evidence he knew was there. As he shifted position, the comforting weight of his Glock 22 pressed against his side.

A long, sleek black car pulled to a stop in the alley below. Finally dragged out of his chain of thought, Mark watched as the driver got out, walking around the vehicle to hold open the passenger door. As Lisa slipped out a side door of the apartment building, taking three steps to cross the space between her and the car, and ducked inside, Mark's eyebrows knitted in confusion. He didn't recognize the car or its driver, and something about the authoritative way she nodded at the driver seemed strange. A quick check of his watch confirmed that Lisa should have been home, preparing for Johnny's birthday. _What could be so important that she'd have to leave now? _Mark wondered.

Something – instinct, maybe – told Mark he had to know what was happening, and he ran to the other side of the building, vaulting over the small wall to land on the fire escape. The metal rattled and thundered with his footsteps as he raced to the bottom, not bothering to extend the ladder as he fell for the final storey, dropping to the pavement.

Around the corner he could hear the car's engine starting, and he sprinted to the apartment building's small parking lot. As he threw himself into his own car and jammed the key into the ignition, the black car zoomed by, heading down the alley and into the street. Mark twisted the key and the engine roared to life, but despite its eager sound, Mark pulled out slowly, keeping a careful distance from the black car.

_Three cars back_, he thought to himself as he reached the street where Lisa's conveyance had taken a right and let a minivan and a truck pass. He slid out into the traffic, watching the black car in short, stolen glances as they moved down the street.

For a while, keeping his distance was easy. The traffic gave Mark camouflage, places to hide. But after a few miles, the traffic began to thin. The sparse flow of cars gave Mark fewer options, and he worried that his persistent presence would become noticeable. As he realised they were heading to the outskirts of the city, he backed off, keeping long stretches of roads between him and his prey, rather than vehicles.

Eventually, the sleek car whipped into the parking lot of an old warehouse. From his position nearly two-hundred yards back, Mark could see the glint of sun off the jet-black exterior as it turned. He slowed, pulling to the side of the road where he'd be less noticeable, and got out. Keeping his body low, he jogged towards the warehouse, his gut telling him he didn't want to be noticed by Lisa or whoever she was there to meet.

When he reached the warehouse, the black car was empty, its driver gone along with Lisa. Crouched behind the vehicle, Mark eyed the windows lining the warehouse warily. There was no way across the vast expanse of the parking lot without being seen if anyone bothered to look outside. Deciding there was no other way in, he dashed across the pavement, the full force of the sun illuminating him for all to see.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Mark flattened his back against the wall of the warehouse next to a wide set of double doors. He reached out for the door's handle, his palms sweaty as he edged closer. His hand wrapped around the rusted, metal handle and he pulled.

The door opened a crack with a squeal. Moving slowly, Mark inched the door open, not wanting to make a sound. When it was just wide enough that he thought he could slip through, Mark felt something hard and unyielding press into the back of his head.

"Get up," a gruff male voice commanded from behind him. "Put your hands up."

Mark did as the voice said, turning as he did to see his attacker, a short man with his head shaved bald. This earned him a smack across the face as the butt of the man's rifle rammed into his chin. Behind him, Mark could hear the door slam shut.

"Did I tell you to turn around?" the man demanded.

Mark stayed silent.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm meeting a friend here," Mark lied. "She told me she needed a ride home."

"Oh, yeah? Who's this friend?" the man asked with a smirk.

"Lisa."

The man sputtered for a moment, before declaring, "Bullshit!"

"It's true," Mark nodded. "You can go ask her. She's inside right now."

The smirk told Mark the man wasn't buying it, but the fact that it didn't reach his eyes said that the man didn't want to face the consequences if it was true. "Yeah, well," he muttered, "We'll see about that. Turn around."

Still keeping his hands above his head, Mark turned. He was sure he had bought his entrance until a hand patted his sides. "I'll take that," the man said triumphantly, as he unholstered Mark's Glock and shoved it in the back of his pants. "Now get moving."

Using his hip to push open the door, Mark stepped inside. For a moment he hesitated, blinded to the dim light in the warehouse by the glaring sunlight outside. The barrel of the gun roughly poked into his back.

"Get moving," the man repeated.

Mark inched forward, squinting as his eyes adjusted. The warehouse was packed so full it had been turned into a labyrinth of huge blocks that appeared to have been shrink-wrapped. The contents were white. _Cocaine_, Mark realised with a start.

They passed into a long canyon between two stacks of blocks. Ahead of them, Mark heard voices. He stepped out from the passageway into a well-lit clearing, where four people stood in a semicircle. Three of them, men, held assault rifles like the one urging Mark onward. The fourth one was unarmed, but gestured and spoke with a commanding presence. It took Mark only a split second to realise, his eyes widening, that it was Lisa.

"Oh, hi, Lisa," he said with sarcastic cheer as he stepped into the circle.

Her eyes wide, a scowl twisted Lisa's face. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, before rounding on the man behind Mark. "What is he doing here?"

"I found this little asshole sneaking around outside," the man answered, pulling out Mark's weapon and holding it out to Lisa. "He was carrying this."

Taking the gun, Lisa studied it and gave a little smirk. "Glock 22," she observed, "Standard issue for the San Francisco PD." She focused on Mark. "So, how long have the police been watching me?"

"Months," Mark lied. "They've just been waiting for you to slip up." At Lisa's raised eyebrow, he added, "They know where I am."

"That's funny, because I check out everyone who lives in the building," Lisa smirked. "I know you're not a cop. Or at least, not right now. What was the phrase that was in your file? Indefinite suspension?"

"That's just a cover story," Mark told her.

"If it were, it would be the laziest one I've ever heard." Crossing her arms, Lisa paced in front of him. "So, you're conducting your own little investigation here," she thought out loud, "Which means you've been hiding in plain sight for almost a year. But then, why would you suddenly blow your cover? You're not that clumsy. Unless…" Lisa broke into a wide grin. "Unless you had no idea what I was doing here. You've been watching Johnny, not me."

"Oh, I've been watching you," Mark shot. "You think I haven't? I may be suspended, but I still know people with connections, people who trust me. They've got a whole file on you back at the station."

"Aw, Mark," Lisa pouted with faux sympathy. "Don't feel bad for not getting it. After all, I'm just the naïve young trophy wife of a much older man with a mysterious past and Eastern European accent. That fool Johnny is the perfect cover, really."

"You devious little bitch."

"Careful, Mark," Lisa warned him, aiming his own Glock at his chest. Around her, the three assault rifles of her lackeys raised in response, all pointing at Mark. "This is really the wrong time to insult me."

Confused, unable to process what he'd just learned, Mark latched on to one thought. "You told me you love me," he protested.

Lisa threw her head back in a cruel laugh.

"Man," one of the men behind Lisa interjected, "She says that to every guy she bangs."

His words were punctuated by the thunder of Mark's Glock as Lisa whirled around and fired. The man's head snapped back as the buried itself between his eyes. His every muscle tensed, and his rifle sent a spray of bullets arcing into the ceiling.

Using the shock and sound as his opportunity, Mark sidestepped as he turned, grabbing the barrel of the gun behind him and ramming it into the bald man's stomach. As the man doubled over, the wind knocked out of him, Mark yanked the weapon out of his hands and brought the butt crashing down into the back of the man's head. He had time to see red welling up in the dent he'd left behind before he dashed away, disappearing into the maze of cocaine.

Bullets slammed into the blocks behind him as Mark raced around a corner and out of range. Cocaine began to pour in a fountain through the shredded plastic as he took a right, then a left, then another left, losing himself in the maze.

"What are you doing?" Lisa's voice was screaming behind him, echoing off the warehouse walls. "Find him!"

Panting more from fear than exertion, Mark's feet pounded across the cement floor, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the sounds of dual footsteps behind him. He wedged himself through a particularly tight gap between two of the enormous packages of cocaine and then slowed, stalking quietly, his ears pinpointing the position of the two other men as he started in a wide circle, planning to double back around his pursuers.

The large, clumsy men were easy enough to hear. Their heavy footfalls and loud, argumentative voices guaranteed that. As they kept rampaging through the maze of narcotics, Mark carefully edged around them, putting himself between the clearing in the center and the men attempting to track him.

Suddenly, a new sound split the air, the singing of struck metal, the same sound Mark had heard earlier, hurtling down the fire escape. He looked up to see a catwalk directly above him, and Lisa trotting across it in stiletto shoes, most of her legs visible under her dress from Mark's vantage point. Her eyes scanned the warehouse below her, until they fell on Mark's gaping face.

"Oh, hi, Mark," she smirked with a little wave, leaning over the catwalk's railing, before calling out to her subordinates, "He's over here!"

She aimed Mark's gun downward, and he had just enough time to throw himself to the floor before he heard the deafening report of the Glock at almost the same time as a thud where his head had just been. There was a soft hiss, and a steady stream of white power hit the back of Mark's head.

He sprang to his feet and raced away before Lisa could fire another shot, shaking his head vigorously to dislodge the cocaine that had settled in his hair. "This way!" yelled a deep, male voice, before another added, "Get on either side of him!"

From their volume and words, Mark realised that they were on the other side of the house-sized slab of cocaine to his right, and they were coming around on either side. Spotting a niche to his left, just big enough to lodge his body into, he froze.

He heard rapid footfalls behind him first, and whirled to see a tall, muscular man emerge from around the corner, his assault rifle raised and ready. Waiting just long enough for the man to spot him, his trigger finger tensing as he grinned in triumph, Mark threw himself into the small alcove just as bullets ripped through the air, turning the narrow corridor into a death trap at the same moment that the other pursuer materialized.

A spray of red and white bloomed through the air in a sick cloud as blood and cocaine fell to the ground, mixing in a pink pool. The gunfire abruptly stopped, and Mark burst out of his hiding spot and peppered the first man, his face aghast in shock as his co-worker bled out on the cement, with lead.

"Did you get him?" Lisa's voice called out. "Is he dead?"

Staying silent, his mouth set in a grim line, Mark ducked between pallets of drugs, keeping himself invisible from the catwalk. He wound his way through the warehouse, ignoring Lisa's demands for an update as he searched for the stairs he'd heard her climbing a few minutes ago. He bent in a half-crouch, his body low and his feet quiet as he found the stairs and climbed.

Lisa was still frantically scanning the area below her for any signs of Mark or her men as he closed the gap between them. "Give it up, Lisa," he told her as he pointed his weapon at her. "It's over."

Her back stiffened. "What are you gonna do?" she taunted. "Shoot me?"

"I will."

"I doubt that." There was a flash of silver as Lisa whirled around, aiming the Glock clutched in her delicate hands at Mark. She giggled as they kept their guns trained on each other. "See? I knew you couldn't do it."

"You're not getting out of here, Lisa. Not on your own terms," Mark maintained, although he was regretting not firing when he'd had a chance.

"Is that so?" Lisa asked, tilting her head in mock curiosity as she stalked forward. "Because I, for one, would be willing to let this slide. We've had so much fun together."

"Keep back," Mark warned as she kept moving forward.

"And I just happened to have a couple jobs open up," Lisa continued, before asking, conversationally, "How's the employment insurance holding up?"

"I'm warning you…"

"Sure you are."

Lisa shoved the barrel of Mark's rifle away at the same time as the hand holding the Glock lashed out, whipping the weapon into the side of Mark's head. His ears rang as he stumbled, grabbing for his gun, and managed to grab hold of Lisa's wrist. As long painted nails scratched at his face, Mark flung Lisa into the railing, trying to spin her around and pin her arms behind her back. The wrist in his grip flailed wildly, trying to get a bead on him, and he clasped his free hand around the gun. Forcing the barrel down and away from both him and Lisa, Mark squeezed her trigger finger, emptying round after round into one of the slabs of cocaine below.

The gun no longer loaded, Mark loosened his grip in relief. Lisa took that opportunity to snatch her hand free and hit Mark with the Glock again, bringing the steel down into his back before ramming it into the back of his skull.

The world suddenly swayed, his vision out of focus, and Mark teetered, leaning heavily on the railing for support. With all her strength, Lisa slammed both palms into Mark's chest, shoving him off balance. His arms flailed as he reached for something – anything – to grab onto and steady himself, and found Lisa's waist just as he fell backwards.

Holding tight, Mark pulled Lisa with him as he tumbled off the catwalk, plummeting down. Their plunge was brought to a sudden stop as they crashed into the block of cocaine the Glock had been emptied into, just a few feet below. The force of their landing sent up a cloud of narcotics like dust off an old couch that has sat on for the first time in years.

Starting to reorient himself just as the world seemed to slow down around him, Mark hopped into a crouch. Lisa kicked at him, trying to shove him away and climb down to the ground, but he grabbed her by both wrists and straddled her, pinning her on her back. Her eyes furious and wild, her pupils dilating, she gave one last thrash before she gave up, understanding that she was trapped – physically, at least.

"You know," she started, her voice a low, sultry whisper, "I really do love you."

His mind foggy, his breath ragged, Mark glared down at the blonde beneath him. "I know," he answered, before leaning down and roughly kissing her, tasting her lipstick and the cocaine that had caked every inch of her smooth skin.


	21. Chapter 21

The days were getting shorter, Johnny thought as he walked home from work, the afternoon sun already fading into a blue twilight, the streetlights already coming alive to light the sidewalks and streets of San Francisco. At the same time, Johnny's days were getting longer. Important clients at the bank, putting his ideas into practice, saving the bank a bunch of money, it all took so much more than a normal, nine-to-five workday to do.

And no one had even mentioned his birthday yet, Johnny moped as he trudged back to his condo. Even the promise of Lisa, his future wife, waiting for him on the sofa, ready to make him feel beloved and special, was beginning to seem hollow. Some days, Johnny wasn't even sure she'd still be there when he opened the door.

Johnny climbed the stairs outside to the condo and pushed open the door to see only blackness. His heart sank. This was the night. Lisa had already packed up and left, leaving the condo they had shared cold and empty.

Then the lights clicked on.

"Surprise!" came an excited, welcoming chorus of voices. A crowd of Johnny's friends stood in front of him, smiling and holding up drinks to toast him.

Everyone was there, Mark, Denny, Claudette, Mike, Michelle… And at the head of the pack, his future wife Lisa, smiling with joy and wearing the little black dress he had bought her for her last birthday. She skipped up to her future husband, laying a warm hand on his arm, giggling. Johnny grinned back, overwhelmed by the outpouring of love.

With a wave of her hands, Lisa conducted the group in a cheerful, off-key rendition of 'Happy Birthday to You.' The notes and chords flowing over him, Johnny waved, happily greeting everyone even as they sang.

"Thank you, alright," he told them as they finished up, starting to blush from all the attention. The thanks continued as Mark passed him a glass of champagne and they all toasted, standing in a huge clump, patting Johnny on the back and offering him hugs. Reaching across the group, Johnny made sure to clink glasses with everyone, letting no one go missed.

At his right, Denny griped about his lack of champagne with which to toast. "You want to drink this one?" Johnny asked him, holding out his own glass teasingly before snatching it away and taking a sip. Denny mouthed silent protest, and Johnny promised him, "Later."

Later, the party was in full swing, and Denny had managed to steal unattended, half-full champagne flutes from other inattentive guests. The sweet liquid was stronger than he'd thought it would be, but the rush of confidence it gave him reminded him pleasantly of the small baggie of amphetamines waiting back in his apartment, carefully rationed out to last him the next few days.

The other guests had split off into their own separate conversations, laughing and smiling with each other as they relaxed. Johnny sat next to Claudette on the couch, his future wife's mother gesturing as she spoke, while Lisa was giggling to Peter near one window. She wasn't consciously aware of it – no one at the party was – but 'Peter' looked completely different. The hologram was now controlled by a different observer, one who had been deemed more stable, more able to fulfil his mission, and he had slipped seamlessly into the life his predecessor had painstakingly set up. The only change was the pulses of energy he now emitted, scrambling the humans' brain waves, telling them that he was their close friend and they had always known him.

From an isolated seat in the corner, Mark's eyes were drawn to Lisa. Everything about her was perfect tonight – the black dress, her crimson lips, the tangled curls of her blonde hair. Even the way she was laughing, joy seeming to bubble up from deep inside her and radiate into the space around her, was beautiful. Mark could barely stand it.

Until her shadowed gaze fell upon him. Then he couldn't stand it at all, and motioned with his chin for her to come over. Lisa turned away, going back to her conversation with replacement Peter. It was only the briefest of glances, but it was long enough for Johnny to notice.

The coffee table, covered with snacks at the beginning of the party, all arranged like a Martha Stewart photo shoot, was almost empty of almost everything but empty plates. What was still left was a messy jumble of chaos, picked over and disarrayed. One of the last, small slices of chocolate cake was sitting on a paper plate in Mike's hand. He stood next to Michelle, one arm slung across the mantle of Johnny and Lisa's fireplace, and held up the cake for her to see, raising his eyebrows and miming enthusiastically eating the delicacy. Michelle grinned, too brazen to blush, and scooped up a piece of icing in her fingers, feeding it to her boyfriend before licking the excess from her thumb.

Mike was about to return the gesture when, behind his girlfriend, he saw Lisa approaching and hurriedly brought his hand to his own mouth. Quickly swallowing the piece of cake he'd intended for Michelle, he tried to put his arm back on the mantle nonchalantly. Finding it too high to make the motion appear casual, he changed tack and put his elbow on Michelle's shoulder instead.

Seeing his whole charade, Lisa giggled. "Hey, everybody," she called out, addressing everybody in the tiny living room, "Let's go out for some fresh air."

There were shrugs and scattered _Yeah_s throughout the room, and everyone quickly streamed out the door. In less than five seconds, the living room was almost totally deserted. As Mark followed the flow of people, about to go outside, the door slammed in front of him, pushed by a delicate, lithe hand. He followed the arm up to see Lisa, smiling sweetly as she blocked his path. Mark smiled at her, nervous and confused.

"Wait," she bade him. "I have something I want to show you."

"Oh really?" Mark asked, raising an eyebrow, pretty sure it was her tits.

Lisa led him over to the couch, where he sat on one of the sheepskins that blanketed the sofa. A moment later, she fell into his lap, keeping her glass of champagne balanced even as she draped over Mark. Her soft fingers caressed the back of his neck.

"So," he started. "What do you want to show me?"

"It's a surprise," Lisa grinned as she set her wine glass aside. She put her hand, the wrist swathed in a glittering diamond bracelet from Johnny, on Mark's clean-shaven cheek and kissed him softly, gently, on the lips. The diamond engagement ring on her finger shining, Lisa's hand moved down, rubbing Mark's chest.

Shifting to move away from her, Mark gaped in confusion at Lisa. "What are you doing?" he asked. "I mean, are you crazy? Everybody's here."

"No they're not," Lisa giggled, shaking her head at Mark's fearfulness. Indicating the empty living room with her chin, she told him, "They're all outside."

Mark returned her laugh and let his head loll back, gazing at the ceiling. "She-devil," he cursed her, "You planned this all along." Marvelling, he reflected on the deviousness, the sheer cunning Lisa had needed to buy them this moment to be together, completely alone and secure. With a smile, he faced her again, returning her affections.

Out of nowhere, the door opened and replacement Peter came in. "What's going on here?" he demanded. Caught off-guard and completely surprised by this development, Lisa and Mark sprang out of the couch and onto their feet. Mark blanched, but Lisa glared defensively. "Why are you doing this?" replacement Peter continued, his predecessor's far-too-detailed notes telling him he should be concerned.

Searching the grain of the hardwood floor for answers, Mark stared down, chastened, but Lisa didn't flinch. "I love him," she sneered, draping one arm across his chest.

"I don't believe it," replacement Peter retorted, his eyes burning with the fury his memory banks told him he should react with.

Looking from Lisa to replacement Peter, bewitched by the pair of sparkling, pleading green eyes that stared up at him, Mark rounded on replacement Peter. "You don't understand anything, man," he told the replacement psychologist calmly. Then, with a sudden burst of rage, added, "Leave your stupid comments in your pocket!"

He pushed past the hologram, shoving him out of the way as he stormed out of the apartment and leaving Lisa and replacement Peter alone. Replacement Peter stalked forward, focused intently on Lisa.

"Do you understand what you're doing?" he asked her. "You're going to destroy Johnny. He's very sensitive."

"I don't care," Lisa pouted. "I'm in love with Mark."

Reacting with theatrical disgust, replacement Peter wrinkled his nose and raised his shoulders to his ears as he shook his head. "How can you do this? You make me sick!"

There was a chuckle as the door opened and Johnny entered, following Michelle inside. He grinned at his future wife. "Thank you honey, this is a beautiful party," he enthused. "You invited all my friends," he continued, putting a loving arm across Michelle's shoulders, "Good thinking!"

Giving a look that said, 'Oh, it was nothing,' Lisa shrugged. "You're welcome, darling." Her mouth opened in a warm smile and her voice turned saccharine. "You know how much I love you."

Revolted, replacement Peter turned to stare at Lisa in horror. He hadn't been given the reasons for his predecessor's reassignment, but he could understand if the previous observer, overcome with distaste, had been unable to maintain neutrality. The humans were even more disgusting than he had imagined. A large part of replacement Peter's mission was determining whether total obliteration was a valid course of action in dealing with the newly discovered species, and he found himself suddenly looking forward to recommending that particular treatment. If these humans were indicative of the whole, xenocide would be a mercy.

"I do," Johnny answered blissfully, oblivious to replacement Peter's shocked reaction.

Lisa looked at Peter, her eyes pleading for him to not give anything away, and he managed to relax. "You know, it's getting really hot in here. Why don't we go back outside," she suggested.

Replacement Peter nodded, biting his lip, his posture tense with rage. "Mmhmm," Johnny agreed, opening the door. He chuckled as everyone streamed outside, but his smile had already faded by the time he left the living room.


	22. Chapter 22

Outside, the patio was festooned with Christmas lights, each glowing white like stars. Flickering candles dotted the outside edge of the large area. A few tables had been set out for the party, each draped with clean white linens and surrounded by chairs. The guest milled around, drinking and chatting, as Lisa stepped outside, stalking through the party like a shark slicing through calm waters, searching for prey.

Ahead of her, Johnny broke off the conversation he'd been having and separated himself from the group, finding a place from which he could orate. "Hey, everybody, I have an announcement to make," he announced. His eyes shone with joy. "We are expecting!"

The patio was filled with shouts and laughs of joy. A scattered applause went up from a few of the guests, and they crowded around Johnny, voicing their congratulations. Mark clapped his best friend on the back while replacement Peter shook Johnny's hand, all overjoyed at the new addition to their close-knit group. Michelle gave Johnny a small peck on the cheek before quickly backing away, quietly slipping over to where Lisa stood, arms crossed and face sullen.

"Lisa, I have to talk to you," she whispered, dragging her a few feet away, to a spot where a string of Christmas lights sagged overhead, and Johnny, preoccupied with the attention of everyone else, couldn't hear them. Michelle clasped both her friend's hands in her own as replacement Peter sidled up behind them, anxiously staring down at the two women. "You have got to be honest with Johnny," she told Lisa.

"I agree with that," replacement Peter nodded.

Feeling backed into a corner, Lisa snatched her hands away. Her eyes flashed between her two friends, and she held her hands up in appeasement. "Look, I'm going to tell him," she started. "Just… I don't want to ruin his birthday." Nervous, she fingered her engagement ring.

Replacement Peter searched his memory banks, looking for an appropriate thing to say in this situation, but this appeared to be a total aberration. All he had was suggestions for pregnancies and suggestions for adultery. "When is the baby due?" he asked slowly, opting to focus on the former.

Her shoulders slumping, Lisa flicked the huge diamond on her finger back and forth. "There is no baby," she confessed.

"What?" replacement Peter asked at the same time as Michelle. "But… What are you talking about?" he continued.

Lisa stepped away, leading them to a nearby table, and sat. Intent on Lisa's explanation, Michelle sat and leaned in while replacement Peter crouched next to her, his hands on his knees. The revelation that she had simply lied about her pregnancy seemed impossible. The lie gave her nothing, and only served to make the discovery of her deception even more unavoidable – and the fallout so much worse. Her only possible motive was spite. She would either have to be stupid or insane – or some combination of the two – to have done this.

"I told him that to make it interesting," Lisa explained. In unison, Michelle and replacement Peter leaned back, their foreheads knitted with confusion at the bizarre justification. When her friend and replacement friend failed to give her the support she had expected, she continued, rationalising defensively. "We're probably going to have a baby eventually, anyway," she asserted, despite the fact that she was supposedly desperate to get out of her relationship with her future husband, not to mention the fact that she was so evil, her womb was probably a barren wasteland. "You're not going to tell Johnny, are you?" she pleaded, now unsure of herself.

"Lisa, are you feeling okay?" Michelle leaned forward, putting a hand to Lisa's forehead to check her friend's temperature, assuming Lisa would have to be deathly ill to have decided on such a peculiar course of action. "Because this is just getting worse and worse," she pointed out, finding Lisa's skin as icy cold as her heart.

Desperate for relief from the judgement, Lisa grabbed the nearest champagne flute and drained it, forgetting her pregnancy ruse precluded such activities.

"I feel like I'm sitting on an atomic bomb," replacement Peter exclaimed, "Waiting for it to go off." In truth, he wished there was an atomic bomb located directly under where his hologram was projected, ready to cleanse Sol-3 of such evil.

"Me too!" Michelle agreed. "There's no simple solution to this." _There would be though, _she added mentally,_ if Lisa hadn't needlessly complicated the situation, apparently for shits and giggles._

"Don't worry," Lisa urged her friends as usual. "You guys worry entirely too much about me."

"Lisa, we're not worried about you, we're worried about Johnny," Michelle scolded, no longer sympathising her friend, justifiably. "You don't understand the psychological impact of what you're doing here. You're hurting yourself, you're…" She motioned at herself and replacement Peter. "You're hurting our friendship," she finished.

"I'm not," Lisa sneered slowly, "Responsibly for Johnny. I'm through with that. I'm changing. I have the right, don't I? People are changing all the time," she continued, perhaps referring to San Francisco's infamous werewolf epidemic. She thrust a finger into her chest. "I have to think about my future," she asserted. "What's it to you?"

Trying to find some shred of humanity within the woman before him, replacement Peter reached out and gently took her hand. "This is going to pull us all down," he reasoned with her, trying and failing to find words that could impress upon her the gravity of her actions. "It's going to shake up our group of friends. It's going to destroy our friendship, Lisa." When Lisa rolled her eyes, replacement Peter decided to change tack. "I don't think Mark really loves you," he told her.

Lisa's heavily shadowed eyes went wide and angry as she glared at replacement Peter. She stood. "I don't want to talk about it," she snarled.

"Lisa, you're going to have to face it," Michelle snapped, leaving just what Lisa had to face vague. "I, for one, am going to have a hard time forgiving you if you don't."

Her entire posture instantly changing, her features snapping from furious to sweet and happy, as if to prove to her friend and replacement friend how much control she had over the situation, Lisa addressed the patio. "Hey, everybody," she called out, "Let's go inside and eat some cake."

The reaction was exactly what Lisa wanted, what she needed to soothe her wounded ego. The guests immediately stood, enthusiastically following Lisa's commands, doing exactly what she wanted. _As it was meant to be_, Lisa thought smugly. Within moments the patio was clear, a line of people shuffling back inside the condo. As Lisa glided over to usher her sheep inside, Michelle watched her friend in shock and dismay, unable to believe her monstrous deeds.

"I don't understand you, Lisa," she called after her. When there was no response, all she could do was sigh.

* * *

"Lisa looks hot tonight," one of Johnny's previously unseen friends observed as he ate a morsel of cake off a plastic fork. His girlfriend, equally unestablished, looked at him like he had lost his mind.

Next to them, Johnny sat with Claudette, chuckling as they spoke. He leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, wanting his future mother-in-law to know how much he appreciated her, before they went back to their briefly interrupted conversation.

"Come on," Mark urged Lisa, standing in the center of the living room, "Whose baby is it? Is it mine?"

"No, of course not," Lisa spat, although if she were pregnant she would have no way of knowing either way. She turned to storm away, but Mark grabbed her wrist, whirling her around to face him.

"How can you be sure?" he demanded. "Come on, Lisa."

"Stop asking me stupid questions," she snarled.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Just shut up!" Lisa yelled as she slapped Mark across the cheek. Rage surging through her, the blow had been so hard that her palm stung.

Mark recoiled, surprised at the force of the hit. Still recovering, he made a grab for Lisa's arms, totally forgetting where he was and the number of people watching. Johnny shot out of his chair, racing to his future wife's side.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, trying to hold Lisa with hands meant to be comforting even as she glared at Mark, her eyes burning with the promise of greater retribution. "What's going on here?" His future wife pulled away from him.

"You really don't know, do you?" Mark scoffed, his eyes flitting to Lisa, standing between him and his best friend.

"Maybe I know more than you think I do, Mark," Johnny shot back, punctuating his words with a strong shove to Mark's chest.

Mark stumbled back, but quickly recovered, sauntering forward as he challenged his best friend. "Shit, alright?" he said cryptically.

"What do you want from me, huh?" Johnny demanded, thrusting his palm into Mark's chest again, this time harder. "Huh?" Staggering, Mark fell back a few feet, lurching into an end table and upsetting a lamp and breaking empty champagne flutes.

Picking himself up, Mark dropped into an aggressive, hostile stance. He thundered forward, slamming into Johnny and grappling with him, trying to wrestle him down to the hardwood floor of the condo.

"Stop! Stop it!" Lisa screamed as they fought, although she must have been expecting something like this to happen. Throwing herself into the fray, she tried to pry her future husband and her lover apart even as they battled, viciously assaulting each other and hurtling brutal blows.

Shocked out of their stupor by Lisa's shrieks, the room seemed to surge forward as a few other guests threw themselves onto the two men. Replacement Peter grabbed Mark around his chest and pulled him away as Mike did the same to Johnny, separating them.

"Alright," Johnny murmured, throwing his hands up in the air, before loudly repeating, "Alright!" His hands dropped to his sides. "Okay, folks, everything is fine," he said, trying to reassure himself more than the guests. "Fight is over, folks." Relaxing, he extended a hand to his best friend in a gesture of peace, or at least a truce. "I'm sorry, Mark."

Stalking forward, his eyes full of suspicion and reproach, Mark hesitated before taking the offered hand. "Yeah," he agreed, "Me too."

"Lisa, can you clean up here, please," Johnny asked softly, trying to regain some dignity before slowly trudging away.

A cold, sick feeling rising in his stomach as he thought about his actions, Mark dropped like a load of bricks into the seat Johnny had just vacated.


	23. Chapter 23

The party went on. Everyone had been unsettled by the fight, but slowly they relaxed and their moods improved. Even Mark's disturbed soul searching somehow seemed less important as he emptied more and more champagne flutes, the edges on his frustration and anger smoothed, eroded by the flow of alcohol. As the stress drained out of him – and he drained another glass – Lisa began to catch his gaze again, dancing enticingly, enchanting her friends into joining her. Her smoky, shadowed eyes fell on Mark, sparkling green and mischievously, and with a flick of her blonde locks she beckoned him over.

Mark felt himself get up out of his chair and approach Lisa, floating as if in a dream, as if it were not of his own volition – and it wasn't, as Mark could hardly be expected to control himself when he was in the vicinity of boobs. As the rest of their friends parted, clearing the dance floor, Mark's hands found their way around Lisa's waist, pulling her to him. She obliged, her hips swaying closer as the music seemed to slow to match her movements.

At first it was just dancing. But then Lisa edged an inch closer, crossing that invisible threshold between familiarity and intimacy, and Mark, entranced, leaned down. Pressing his cheek to hers, Mark took in the smell of Lisa's hair, lost in the moment, oblivious to the fact that he was doing this in Lisa's future husband's condo, at his birthday party.

As Mark kissed her cheek, Lisa stroked the back of her lover's neck, her manicured fingernails tracing lines of pleasure across his skin. She moved her head back an inch to gaze up at Mark's eyes, a subtle smile playing at her lips. If Mark had the power to look away, if he wasn't completely under Lisa's control, he would have seen the long black hair and slumped frame of her future husband behind her, glaring at the two's brazen actions.

Johnny stalked over, his glower gaining fury as he moved. "What are you doing?" he asked, stopping them by putting a hand on Lisa's shoulder.

"None of your business," she snapped, staying close to Mark, her hand still caressing his chest.

"You're my future wife," Johnny reminded her. His voice went low, full of danger. "What are you doing, Lisa?"

Lisa glanced momentarily at Mark, and he got her message, her command. "Leave her alone, man," he challenged his best friend. "She doesn't want to talk to you."

"Since when do you give me orders?" Johnny demanded, shoving Mark in the chest so hard that an audible thump could be heard throughout the party. This had the intended effect of separating the two lovers, as Mark stumbled back a few feet.

The peace disturbed, the guests lining the room began to watch the display. Smiles and laughter faded. There were murmurs and gasps of shock, whispers of distress.

Unfazed, Mark stalked around Johnny like a vulture circling an injured cow. "Since Lisa changed her mind about you," he told Johnny, drawing himself up to his full height, his muscular frame obvious even beneath his sweater.

Johnny chuckled in response.

"Wake up, man!" Mark continued, shouting. "What planet are you on?"

From his spot in the corner, replacement Peter reflexively tensed and put his finger on the self-destruct button. He relaxed as he realised the question wasn't directed at him.

Johnny scoffed and looked away, a wild strand of ebony hair falling in front of his vision. "I think you should leave right now, Mark," he warned his best friend.

"Don't spoil it," Lisa pleaded, reaching out for the crook of her future husband's arm. "We were just having fun." She glanced at Mark, demanding his help.

"Don't worry about it, man," Mark urged, imitating Lisa's gesture. As his fingers brushed against Johnny's jacket, Johnny flinched, slapping his best friend's hand away.

"Don't touch me, motherfucker," he snarled. More hair fell in front of his face, and he seemed to transform into a feral animal. "Get out."

Enraged at Johnny's command, Mark flew forward, throwing himself into Johnny. They grappled, Mark trying to push Johnny over and Johnny trying to fend off the fierce attack. Trying to force his best friend away, Johnny grasped Mark's wrists and held them above their heads.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Lisa screeched, again trying to separate the two men. Trying to help, Denny grabbed Johnny from behind.

"Leave her alone," Johnny growled as he summoned all his strength, slamming his palms into Mark. Mark seemed to rocket backwards, flung to the hardwood floor, his head smashing into the front door as he slumped on the ground, his face slack from shock at Johnny's rage. Dazed, he climbed to his feet. Behind Johnny, Denny gaped.

"You two are acting like children," Lisa sneered as her future husband tossed his head, throwing his hair out of his face.

Ignoring her, Mark stalked forward again. "Son of a bitch," he swore at his host.

"You're going to ruin the party," Lisa told them, somewhat belatedly.

"If you would keep your girl satisfied, she wouldn't come to me!" Mark bellowed at Johnny, apparently blaming the cuckolded man for his relationship with Lisa.

His expression grim, Johnny almost instantaneously stripped out of his jacket. "Get out of my house," he ordered again, throwing the garment to the floor. He surged forward. "I kill you!" he roared as he attacked Mark, continuing to yell indistinct threats about breaking things.

As Johnny's hands searched for Mark's neck, several sets of hands reached in to grab the men, trying to separate them. They struggled across the small room in a roiling, angry clump.

"Stop! Stop it!" Lisa shrieked again, getting a profound sense of déjà vu.

"I kill you, you bastard," Johnny was hissing and spitting as he was pried and dragged away, the strength of three men needed to combat his fury.

Standing apart from everyone, tall and proud, Mark watched Johnny. "You couldn't kill me if you tried," he defied his former best friend.

Johnny shook the hands off him, flinging his mop of black hair directly into his face as he did. As he stood tall to match Mark, he tried to quickly straighten his locks. "You betrayed me, you're not good, you," he spat out the insult. "You're just a chicken, cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep!" He flapped his hands at his side, taunting Mark.

Incensed at the terrible imitation of a chicken, Mark hurled himself forward again, snarling as he slapped at Johnny's chest. They grabbed each other's wrists, scratching at each other as they struggled.

Bored of this drama, replacement Peter forced himself in the way and threw the two men apart. "It's over," he pronounced.

"Shut up!" Johnny yelled back at the hologram. He threw himself forward again, in his rage attacking replacement Peter instead of Mark.

"It's over!" replacement Peter repeated.

"Shut up!" Johnny told him again as he was overpowered and pushed back. "It's not over," he nearly sobbed, "Everybody betrayed me, I'm fed up with this world!" Frustrated, his threw his arms up, flailing.

The room went silent as Johnny trudged forward, starting up the spiral staircase, festively decorated with balloons and Christmas lights for his birthday. As he disappeared, Lisa turned back to her guests, her displeasure evident on her face even though she had put conscious effort into engineering a scene like the one they had all just watched.

The guests, quiet and anguished, looked back at her, those who knew what had just happened silently judging Lisa without sympathy. By unspoken consensus, they all began to leave, retrieving anything they had come with and beelining for the door as fast as they could. A few waved a quick, awkward goodbye at Lisa, or expressed vague condolences, but most simply refused to look her in the eyes, fleeing the site without a backward glance.


	24. Chapter 24

Sulking on the couch upstairs, Lisa hadn't bothered to turn on a single light, letting the illumination from the street outside filter in through the drapes and create jagged shadows that matched her mood. Claudette climbed the spiral staircase, her face somber as a funeral, watching her daughter as she sat motionless, brooding.

"I cleaned up the kitchen, sweetheart," she told her daughter, unrolling the sleeves of her jacket, her voice gentle but cold. "So you don't have to worry about that."

Her lips pushed out in a pout, Lisa stood, looking to her mother for advice. "He still won't come out of the bathroom," she complained, pleading for guidance.

"Sweetheart, he's upset," Claudette told her daughter, stunned by her indifference. "Now, Johnny is a sensible man, he will come out, you will discuss this," she continued, outlining the proper course of action, "Everything is going to be okay."

"I just think I should be alone with his right now," Lisa said, her forehead knitting in faux concern as she tried to convince her mother to leave.

"I understand, sweetheart," Claudette replied, her hand on Lisa's cheek. "I'm going to go home now," she kissed her daughter's other cheek and tapped her nose. "Bye bye. You call me if you need me."

"I will," Lisa nodded. "Thanks, mom."

"Mmhmm," Claudette called back, already descending the stairs, satisfied. She knew leaving was the right thing to do, but it wouldn't have helped unless her daughter had realised it as well. Now that Lisa was being sensible – now that she had said she was going to reassure Johnny and have a serious talk about their future – everything was going to be okay. Claudette knew she didn't have to worry about it.

After watching her mother go, Lisa turned her gaze to the bathroom door, her lips curling back in a sneer as she thought about her future husband with loathing. Her high heels clicking against the floor in an angry staccato, she stormed over, grasping the knob and tugging, furiously trying to break down the locked door. She gave it another yank, pulling so hard that the mirror on the wall swayed as the thin, poorly constructed wall shuddered.

Giving up, she turned to look at the bedroom, dark and empty, no longer the place of joy and intimacy it had once been. The scented candles were dark, the only light streaming in from outside. It fell in a long ray across the telephone, making the line of communication beam beckoningly in the night.

Trying to ignore the impulse, Lisa paced. She crossed her arms, impatiently whirling back on the bathroom door. "You can come out now, Johnny," she called. "She's gone."

His back against the door, Johnny glowered. "In a few minutes, bitch," he called back.

"Who are you calling a bitch?" Lisa demanded, not sure how cheating on her future husband, telling all his friends he was abusive and then lying about being pregnant made her a bitch.

"You and your stupid mother," Johnny told her.

Anger coursing through her, Lisa screwed up her face. All her resolve to do what her mother said and try to salvage her relationship with her future husband disappeared, drowned in her rage. She turned back to the phone, wanting to hurt Johnny as much as she could. It beeped cheerfully as she dialed Mark's number, her fingers instinctively finding their way.

Mark picked up after half a ring, still on edge from the party and half expecting the call. "Hello?" he asked.

"Hi, Mark," Lisa answered quickly, both seductive and anxious. "I need to talk to you."

"What's going on?" Mark asked, apparently still not getting how this works.

Sparing only one further glance at the bathroom door, Lisa reassured Mark, "Don't worry about Johnny, he's just being a baby. You know, I love you very much."

As she continued murmuring to Mark, wrapping him up once again in her sweet, poisonous words, Johnny pressed his ear to the door. He couldn't make out anything concrete, but he knew Claudette couldn't be home yet, so Lisa couldn't be calling her mother, and from the intimate way she cooed into the phone, sultry and seductive, it was unlikely to be a mere friend. When he had overheard his future wife confide in her mother, telling her she was having an affair, Johnny hadn't heard any names, but when he had seen Mark and Lisa tonight, he had known. His future wife had been curling up in his best friend's arms, smiling and content, and he had known.

"I love you," Lisa told Mark again.

"Why don't you ditch this creep," Mark suggested lazily. "I don't like him anymore."

"I know," Lisa agreed, ignoring the bathroom door behind her even as it seemed to watch her with reproach. "He's not worth it. Why don't I come up there and be with you?"

"Sure, baby. Come on up," Mark answered, invitingly. "I want your body."

"You got it," Lisa answered. She looked to the bathroom door again, this time with a feeling of triumph instead of defeat, and raised her voice just enough for her future husband to hear. "I'm on my way. Bye."

"Bye."

There was a short chirp as Lisa hung up and put the phone back into its cradle. Still with his ear pressed to the door, the silence was obvious to Johnny. The conversation was over. He closed his eyes slowly, crushed. But even in the face of overwhelming evidence, Johnny's faith in his future wife refused to die, and he came outside into the bedroom, ready to believe anything she told him if it let them get back to their idyllic lives.

The bedroom was dark, eerie in the gloom. Johnny focused on Lisa, the one spot of brightness. "Who were you talking to?" he asked her.

"Nobody," she snapped, picking clothes from her dresser drawer and throwing them onto the bed.

"We'll see about that," Johnny answered, stomping downstairs as she packed. Even after that night, even as she packed her things, he couldn't believe this was for real, that it was anything more than a misunderstanding. Deep inside of him, he knew that if he played the evidence, everything would work itself out.

Or maybe his need to hear it for himself, to have it starkly play out in front of him, was part of a masochistic impulse. Maybe it wasn't that he believed Lisa, and wanted her to pull the knife out, but instead wanted her to dig it in deeper and twist it, leaving himself helpless before her, as he had always been.

Lisa paid no attention to the heavy footsteps behind her, not when they faded as they tromped downstairs and not when they turned around and thundered back up the spiral staircase. Assuming Johnny was just having a tantrum, one that would die out without attention, she continued packing, grabbing skimpy black lingerie by the handful and throwing it into her bag.

It took a sound she didn't recognize, a strange rattling, to get her attention. She turned to see Johnny, holding an obsolete cassette tape in his huge hand, waving it triumphantly though his expression was grim. Without a word, he thundered over to their bed and sat. He yanked open the drawer on the night stand and pulled out an old answering machine that had been stashed there when Johnny and Lisa had bought the state-of-the-art machine downstairs.

"We'll see about that," he intoned grimly as Lisa watched him with a scowl, continuing to pack her things. Johnny loaded the tape and pressed play.

"Hello?" Mark's disembodied voice, captured on tape, floated out of the answering machine.

"Hi, Mark?" the Lisa from a few minutes ago replied. Standing next to the bed, the Lisa of Now felt a cold pit open up in her gut as she realised she was caught. Her faked pregnancy, her dance with Mark, the fight downstairs, packing to leave her future husband – all of that had plausible deniability. All of that could be repaired. This though, her voice and Mark's, unspooling from the tape, making auditory love in front of Johnny, in his own bedroom, this was the point of no return.

She made a grab for the answering machine, wanting – needing – to shut it off, to stop its accusations, but Johnny snatched it away from her as her voice continued. "I need to talk to you."

"What's going on?"

As Lisa sighed and turned away, the cassette continued to replay the past. "Don't worry about Johnny. He's just being a big baby," Lisa's voice announced to the bedroom. At that moment, the Lisa who packed as her future husband glared at her back couldn't agree more. "You know," her voice went on, condemning her, "I love you very much." Lisa punctuated the statement by throwing another handful of clothes onto the bed, scowling at Johnny as she did. "You're the sparkle of my life," she cooed, inadvertently telling her future husband all the damning words she'd said while he hid in the bathroom. "I can't live without you."

The tape abruptly stopped as Johnny hit pause. Lifting the flap to open her suitcase, Lisa went to toss more clothes inside. Johnny stopped her, grabbing her arm. His fingers tightened, his knuckles whitening as he clamped down on his future wife's wrist. "You little tramp," he accused, his voice low and dangerous, almost emotionless, before anger swelled in him, and volume and rage exploded out of him. "How could you do this to me? I gave you seven years of my life!" Lisa remained silent, pouting. "And you betrayed me. Let's see what else we have on this tape." He let go of his future wife's wrist to press play.

"No!" Lisa ordered as she snatched her released hand back. "Stop." Something about the cold edge to her voice made Johnny listen, watching her warily. "You little prick, I put up with you for seven years," she hissed. "You think you're an angel," she accused, either hinting at imagined abuses or accurately describing the writer/director/star. She shook her head. "You're just like everybody."

"I treat you like a princess," Johnny spat. "And you stabbed me in the back. I love you and I did anything for you," he continued, mixing and matching verb tenses, "To just please you, and now you betray me. How could you love him?!" he screamed with rage and horror.

When Lisa didn't respond, unmoved, Johnny pushed play again. "Why don't you ditch this creep?" Mark's voice groaned, telling his supposed best friend exactly what he thought. "I don't like him anymore."

"I know, he's not worth it," Lisa commiserated as Johnny's black eyes watched her face, watched her reaction to her own words. Her gaze dropped as she mustered the decency to look away, unable to look her future husband in the eye. "Why don't I come up there and be with you?"

"Sure, baby. Come on up," Mark replied. "I want your body."

"You got it," Lisa consented.

Those three words were the last straw. Johnny let out a guttural scream, the feral road of a wounded animal as he leapt from the bed. Enraged, he flung the offending answering machine away from him, hurling it into the wall. It hit the drywall with a heavy thump and bounced away, the sturdy device undamaged by the fierce throw.

For a long moment, Johnny stood still, watching Lisa, his body tensing. His fists clenched and unclenched, the idea of violence flowing through them. Cautious, Lisa stayed where she was, avoiding sudden movements. Defeating the violent impulse, and defeated by everything else, Johnny sunk back to the bed. He shoved his fingers into his thick black hair, his nails digging into his scalp as he pulled at his locks, trying to drown his sorrow in physical anguish.

"I don't have a friend in the world," he slurred, the strength drained out of him.

Picking that moment as the optimal one, Lisa finally told him, "I'm leaving you, Johnny." She picked her bag up off the bed and slung it over her shoulder before briskly walking to the spiral staircase and disappearing down the stairs.

Dark energy still twisting inside him, knotting his stomach and clouding his vision, Johnny stood, not quite sure what to do. He paced over to the spiral staircase and put his hands on the railing, leaning out over the passage to the first floor so that he could see Lisa's fleeing frame. "Get out, get out," he chanted like a mantra, "Get out of my life!"

His shoulders slumped as Lisa disappeared. Both she and Johnny had known what he'd tried to do, trying to command Lisa to get out after she'd already decided to leave, as if it was his decision, as if he had any control over the situation. He let out another scream as he paced the bedroom, flinging his arms up at the ceiling in anger before throwing himself back onto the bed. He let himself fall back to the mattress with a thump.

He wasn't sure how long he lay like that, motionless, staring at the ceiling as if it had answers, as if it were a clear sky to which he could direct his questions. It felt like hours. At times, questions and accusations swirled through his mind as he wondered where it had gone wrong, how many of his friends had been involved in his betrayal, how many had plotted against him. Revenge scenarios flitted in front of his vision, bloody and unmerciful. The more coherent thoughts were punctuated by seemingly endless stretches of disjointed, rambling, animalistic madness, pure rage and sorrow taking over his entire being, becoming all he was.

Johnny wasn't sure when he sat up, stood, and started walking, but he was suddenly aware that he was slowly padding down the spiral staircase. His eyes scanned the room for anything that didn't remind him of Lisa, of the life together that he had thought was perfect, but there was nothing. All of it was infused with their relationship, staring back at him, mocking him.

The room echoed with a loud, angry scream, tinged with sorrow, as Johnny let every breath of air out of his lungs. His throat was already raw from his roars, stinging and inflamed, but he kept sobbing as he stormed through the living room. "Why, Lisa, why, why?!" he demanded as he flung himself into the chair next to the fireplace, slamming his hands into the arm rests. His fingers dug into the fabric like talons, almost tearing the material.

Sobs choked him, wracking his body. He slammed his eyes closed as hard as he could, shutting out the room and its memories, but this only triggered a flood of images, vivid as they day they'd happened. Across from him, Lisa sat on the sofa, drunk and laughing, Johnny's tie wrapped around her head like a bandanna, the engagement ring on her finger glittering as she muffled her laughter with her hand. Upstairs, she wore her red dress and pulled Johnny close, kissing him in the candlelight and smiling as she led him towards the bed. She stood in front of him, leaning down to bring her lips to his, her blonde hair brushing gently against his forehead. She lay naked on the bed, rose petals scattered all over her body as Johnny caressed her soft skin.

Twin trials of tears ran from Johnny's eyes, shining as he sobbed and screamed, trying to push his torment out of his body and into the condo he had once shared with his future wife. Lisa's face still appeared in flashes behind his eyelids, smiling, laughing, taunting. With a sudden burst of energy, Johnny leapt to his feet, propelling himself through the living room. He thundered across the hardwood floor, one long arm smashing into the tasteful bowl of fruit on the coffee table. There was a crash of the ceramic bowl shattering as apples flew everywhere, blots of red rolling across the ground.

Wanting to destroy everything that reminded him of the last seven years, every trace of his and Lisa's relationship, he rampaged through the living room. The silver candelabra Lisa had once asked Johnny to buy, saying it added the perfect touch of class to the room, tumbled to the ground. The shelf, full of Lisa's favourite six CDs, fell with a hardwood-denting thump. A sweep of Johnny's hand cleared the fireplace mantle, sending scented candles and empty champagne flutes flying, shattering into shards as they hit the ground. Not satisfied, Johnny kept attacking the mantle, knocking the paintings above off the wall, their frames splintering as they collided.

With another roar, Johnny stormed over to where the television sat on two elegant pillars made from white plaster. Heaving the huge black box over his head, he yelled, "You bitch!" as he hurled the TV out the window. It sailed through the air, trailing the glass it had broken on its way out, before landing in the alley outside, crumpling as it hit the pavement.

The room destroyed, Johnny's heavy footsteps pounded up the spiral staircase. The bedroom brought back even more memories, and he tried to silence them with a deafening howl. Random strings of syllables, some seeming to curse the world, some seeming to call out his future wife's name, tumbled from his mouth in an incoherent babble as the rage surged through him, threatening to drive him mad. He slammed into the tall dressed by the stairs, the one Lisa had emptied of her sexiest clothes, and grabbed drawers, yanking them out so hard they soared behind him. Clothes spilled everywhere, coating the floor like a thick carpet. Still incensed, Johnny shoved the dresser to the side, letting it keel over with a bang.

He rampaged through the bedroom, kicking garments and drawers out of his way, before his eyes fell on the bed. The bed where he and his future wife had slept, side by side. The bed where they had made love so many times. The bed where they had shared their most intimate moments.

Roaring, Johnny grabbed sheets, pillows, blankets with both hands and hurled them to the side, spilling them all over the floor. They fell in an angry swirl of red and white, mussed like a wall splattered with blood.

Johnny flung himself onto the stripped mattress like a teenager having a temper tantrum because their parents cancelled their World of Warcraft account. His destruction hadn't been enough. He was still all too aware of Lisa's lingering presence in the room, the way they had made love on the same bed Johnny was laying on. The chaos and ruin of the condo reflected his mood, but he couldn't see it. All he could see was Lisa.

As he stood, another sweep of his hand threw the scented candle off the end table, along with the collection of smooth stones that complimented it. They fell to the ground with a rattle – like the rattle of a baby. The tall, wrought iron candelabra followed it to the floor as Johnny knocked it over, sobbing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny thought he saw someone in the room with him and whirled on the figure. He recognised wild black hair and an enraged, craggy scowl, before he realised he was looking in the mirror, its sophisticated gilded frame in stark contrast with his feral appearance. His reflection seemed more shadow than human, brimming with dark rage. Unable to stand it, unable to look into the face of such a pitiable creature, one so unjustly unloved by the world, he knelt and picked up one of the large, jagged rocks from the fountain decorating the bedroom and hurled it into the glass.

A spider web of cracks appeared in his face before gravity took over, and silver chards of glass tumbled to the ground, taking Johnny's reflection with them. The obliteration of himself only soothed him for a moment, however, and he stormed back over to the pile of clothes and sheets, falling to his knees in the bedlam.

The sounds coming from him were quieter, almost calm now, more grunts than the howls and roars of agony he'd screamed. He pawed through the mess, each item bringing up new memories, each a new stab of pain. His gaze fell upon an angry slash of red, and he shifted, reaching for the soft fabric.

The cool silk seemed to flow through his fingers like water, soft and inviting as the day he'd picked it out at the store. That was, he suddenly realised, only a few days ago. Only a few days ago he had proudly presented his future wife with the red dress, the dress she had loved so much. Lisa's smile when she had seen it, her excitement to try it on, the way she had touched him afterward… That had been real. There was no way it wasn't. How had it all gone so wrong, so fast? he wondered. How could Lisa have grown to hate him in what seemed like only a few short days?

He fingered the silk, and Lisa was downstairs, twirling for him. He brought the dress to his nose and drank it in. A piece of it brushed against his lips, soft as a lover's caress, soft as Lisa. Almost experimentally, he brushed the dress across his face again, its texture reminding him of Lisa's skin. With more force, with more purpose, he dragged the red silk down his neck, letting out a groan as he remembered Lisa's hands on his chest, helping him undress, their bodies a tangle of limbs as they fell into bed.

Johnny fell back into the pile of bedding as, in his mind's eye, he was pushed into bed by Lisa. Now existing more in the past than in the present, he brought the silk, balled in his fist, down to his crotch. He groaned as more nights with Lisa came flooding into him, his back arching as he spasmed in angry pleasure. His short grunts of suffering mixed with sorrow echoed off the walls of the bedroom as ripples of gratification surged through him. Soon the waves of pleasure died out, and he was left alone with his anguish.

"You tramp," he sobbed, spreading the silk over his face, blocking everything out with red. Through the red he saw her, Lisa, smiling on the bed. Trying to destroy his memories, he had destroyed everything around him. Almost.

With a snarl, Johnny sat up and tore at the delicate silk. The thin fabric ripped with a sound like a death rattle, and he pulled at it again. His visions of Lisa changed as the garment was reduced to shreds – downstairs, Lisa danced with Mark, pulling him ever closer, and upstairs, Lisa was telling Johnny that she hadn't loved him, that she had merely tolerated him for the last seven years. He howled again, slinging scraps of fabric, now so small they were only good as dust rags, into the white bedding.

More sobs wracked Johnny's frame. The pain was unending, impossible to quench. Nothing would end it, except…

Johnny's eyes landed on a small box that had fallen from the dresser when he had hurled it to the ground. He had hid it, days ago, in the bottom drawer, not wanting Lisa to find it. He didn't want to worry her, but he also wanted to be able to protect her, to defend her with his life, if need be. So when he had had the opportunity, when he and Mark had disarmed Chris-R, and when Mark wasn't looking, Johnny had taken it, hoping he'd never have to use it.

Now, though, it was the only option.

Reaching across the pile of clothes, Johnny grabbed the small wooden box. He opened it, hesitant, almost changing his mind, almost slamming the lid shut again. Finally he flung it open.

In the darkness of the box, the barrel of the gun glinted dangerously, invitingly. Tossing hair out of his eyes, Johnny picked up the weapon, feeling the surprising heft of it in his hands, studying it almost academically. It seemed strange that such a physically small object could do so much damage – and end so much pain.

"Why?" Johnny asked the room. "Why is this happening to me? Why?" He moaned, the cool steel clenched between his fingers promising relief. There was no going back now, he knew. He couldn't survive, not with his torment swirling through his brain, driving daggers into him at every opportunity. This was a mercy killing, putting down an injured, rabid dog. "It's over," Johnny moaned quietly, beaten.

With a flick of his thumb, he turned the safety off. His index finger seemed to nestle next to the trigger perfectly, like the gun had been manufactured with him in mind. It seemed to move of its own volition, inching closer to his face. "God," he begged, "Forgive me."

His memory of Lisa seemed to coach him through it, standing above him on the stairs, telling him everything was going to be all right. Reassuring him. Urging him on.

Johnny opened his mouth wide, shoving the thick, rigid steel inside. His lips conformed to the round stiffness, welcoming it in. His finger tensed. He tried to squeeze the trigger, but it took so much more conviction, so much more strength than he thought it would. So much more strength than he had left.

Still standing on the staircase, Johnny's memory of Lisa watched him. "Good night, Johnny," she said coldly.

The gun fired, sending hot lead spiralling out the back of Johnny's skull, taking chunks of grey matter and a spray of blood along for the ride. His dead fingers slack, the weapon fell out of Johnny's hand as his head was snapped back from the force of the blast.


	25. Chapter 25

Lisa stood in front of Mark, biting her lip, her eyes coyly darting away as if she was shy, as if she'd ever been shy. Her fingers tugged at the strap on her dress, toying with it. Mark leaned forward in his seat, watching as Lisa slipped the strap over her shoulder, loosening the dress, letting it start to fall away from her body.

A sound like thunder cracked through the air.

They both froze. They both knew that sound.

Instantly, Mark grabbed his Glock 22, ready for the assault on the apartment building that he'd been anticipating since the day he moved in – and dreading since earlier that afternoon – but Lisa stopped him with a shake of her head.

"That's not for us," she told him. "That came from Johnny's apartment."

Mark was already racing out the door.

Lisa followed in hot pursuit. "Wait, Mark," she called after him. "We don't want to get involved!"

"Dammit, Lisa, we're already involved," he yelled back as they dashed through the apartment building's corridors and into the alley outside. "This isn't a game anymore."

He hurtled up the steps to Johnny and Lisa's condo, his hand flying to the door knob. He pulled at it, rattling it uselessly before looking to Lisa, who sighed.

"My key's upstairs," she groaned, turning to trudge back to Mark's apartment to retrieve it.

"No time," Mark shot, and hurled his foot into the door as hard as he could. The thick oak nearly rattled off his hinges with the force of the blow.

"What are you doing?" Lisa demanded.

Ignoring her, Mark kicked the door again. Wood around the door knob was beginning to splinter. With one last, mighty heave, his foot slammed into the door and it exploded inwards. Taking only a moment to let the damage to the living room sink in, Mark dashed up the spiral staircase, desperately scanning the apartment for his best friend. Behind him he could hear the click of Lisa's high heels trotting up the stairs after him.

The first thing he saw as he entered the bedroom was a pair of shoes sitting on the floor, motionless. As cold fear surged through him, Mark's eyes moved up over the still body lying in the jumble of clothes and sheets. A dark red stain was spreading across white pillows and blankets. Mark raced to Johnny's side.

"Wake up, Johnny, come on!" he urged as he grabbed his best friend's corpse by the shoulders and shook him.

Lisa knelt beside her future husband, her mouth agape in shock. Angry, accusing reds were everywhere, tangled in the sheets, pooling behind Johnny's head, and dripping from Johnny's mouth. She picked up his hand, but the warmth was already beginning to drain from it. Her lower lip quivered as the enormity of what she had done, her worst crimes, began to sink in. "Is he dead?" she asked Mark in an uncertain sob. She flung the dead hand away, no longer able to bear the thought of her transgressions. "My God, Mark, is he dead?" she demanded more urgently.

In response, Mark lifted the hand with which he'd been cradling Johnny's head, stroking his hair. His fingers were sticky and red with already drying blood, and Lisa gasped in horror. Mark studied his hand for a long moment, not believing his own eyes. "Yes, he's dead," he finally pronounced quietly, admitting it to himself more than Lisa. Next to him, Lisa sobbed and sniffled, and he felt a sudden surge of anger. She had done this. She had betrayed Johnny, forced Mark to betray Johnny, and had shown no remorse. Lisa may as well have put the gun in Johnny's mouth and pulled the trigger, smiling the whole time, and only now – now that her future husband was dead – only now did she have the decency to care. "Yes, he's dead!" Mark shouted.

A long stream of tears flowing into her mouth, Lisa sobbed again. "Oh my god," she cried, sniveling. She cradled her head in her hands, distraught for some reason.

Blocking out the sound of her crying, her body trembling with sorrow next to him, Mark leaned down over Johnny. Slowly, gently, he pressed his lips to his best friend's forehead, saying goodbye for the last time.

"Oh my god," Lisa sobbed again, and Mark gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She leaned toward him, pressing her face into his sweater. Even through the thick material, he could feel the cool wetness of her tears, soaking through to his skin. "I've lost him, but I still have you, right?" she asked, her voice starting to gain strength. "Right?"

Another cold surge of anger went through Mark, wrapping its fingers around his heart and settling deep in his soul. _Had this been Lisa's plan all along, _he wondered,_ getting Johnny out of the way like this?_ Even if it was never her intention to hurt him like this, Mark realised he would never know. He shoved Lisa away. "You don't have me," he spat as Lisa's eyes pleaded with him. "You never had me." Tears flowed down his cheeks, shining in the dim light. "You killed him."

"Mark, we're free to be together!" Lisa declared. "I love you."

Shaking his head, not sure how he didn't see it before, how he didn't see how truly evil Lisa was, Mark watched her performance with disbelief.

"I love you," she insisted again, reaching for him.

"Tramp," he sneered, slapping her hand away. "You killed him. You're the cause of all of this." Deep down, Mark knew there was no way he could have prevented this, no way anyone could have prevented this. Lisa had dug her claws into everything around her, ensnaring both Mark and Johnny, doing what she willed with them as they helplessly danced to her song. "I don't love you."

Lisa sniffed, heartbroken by the revelation and presumably the still-cooling corpse of her future husband between them.

"Get out of my life, you bitch!" Mark screamed, echoing the words Lisa had told him, minutes ago, that Johnny hurled after her as she left. She had laughed cruelly then, and with a sick feeling Mark realised he had laughed along with her, but that was the past, when he had been blind. As Lisa sobbed, her face crinkling and her body quaking, Mark couldn't believe he'd ever found her attractive.

"What's happening?!" Denny's voice shrieked from the staircase.

"Don't look, Denny," Mark told him, but Denny was already racing forward, filled with a need to be at Johnny's side. Mark caught the eighteen-year-old, pushing him back as he sobbed.

"Johnny's dead!" Denny cried in horror, stumbling, the strength leaving his legs. He collapsed to his knees, overcome with grief. "Wake up, Johnny, please!" he pleaded with the corpse as he struggled with Mark, trying to crawl to Johnny's side. Lisa stroked Denny's hair in an attempt to calm him, but he didn't notice. "Please! It's not right," he moaned, "It's not right."

Finally breaking Mark's grip, Denny fell forward, his hand on Johnny's chest. He sobbed, looking from Mark to Lisa and back, his eyes wild and confused.

"Denny, he's in a better place," Lisa told him, hoping it would soothe him.

"Leave us!" Denny commanded Mark and Lisa. "Both of you, leave."

"As far as I'm concerned, you can drop of the earth," Mark growled harshly as he rose and stalked out. "That's a promise."

"Just leave!" Denny called after his retreating back before turning to Lisa. "Both of you!"

"Leave him, alright?" Mark told Lisa, understanding that Denny cared the most, that he was the one who most deserved to mourn Johnny. Mark and Lisa weren't worthy. "Let him be with him."

With one last sigh, Lisa climbed to her feet and followed Mark.

"Why, Johnny?" Denny moaned, tears dripping from his face. "Why?!"

Standing on the top of the spiral staircase, Lisa and Mark turned. For a long moment they watched as Denny, curled over Johnny's body, whimpered, every so often another _why?_ escaping his lips. They glanced at each other. They'd both been so angry – angry at each other, angry at Johnny, angry at themselves – that they'd forgotten about anything else. They'd been prepared to abandon Denny when he needed them. By mutual consent, they knew what they had to do.

Mark and Lisa padded forward, reassuming their positions on either side of Denny. As sirens blared in the distance, growing closer with every second, they knelt and embraced Denny, comforting him as best they could. Together, they wept over Johnny's body, the last time they'd all be together as a family.

THE END


End file.
